Tick Tock
by tromana
Summary: Time is running out. For some, faster than others. The Mentalist/Skins crossover. Written for round 2 of the Skins Big Bang. Jane/Lisbon, Rich/Grace
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Tick Tock  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> language, underage drinking, taking of illegal substances, violence, death of major characters  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own Skins or The Mentalist (or _The 39 Steps_, which is name-dropped heavily).  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Time is running out. For some, faster than others.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> I apologise for the extensive notes but I feel this fic requires them. Please feel free to skip them.

This fic was written for Round 2 of the Skins Big Bang over on LiveJournal.

**Thank you:**

A huge thank you to for introducing me to Skins, encouraging me to actually watch when I had this plotbunny before I'd even watched the show, for being an amazing cheerleader, brilliant beta and wonderful artist.

And for always being there for me, just generally. *hugs*

So, even if you don't want to read the fic because you think I'm completely and utterly nuts for mashing up these two fandoms, please go show her some love because she deserves it. The art is, after all, just a fraction of what she's done for me.

**Timelines:**

Show timelines have been fudged a bit to make this work. It is set during Season Three of the Mentalist, post 3x09 Red Moon but before 3x16 Red Queen. For Skins, it is set post Series Five. The time of year has also been shifted to late Autumn, early Novemberish of 2011, after the clocks have gone forward. This means that episodes of the Mentalist are possibly happening at different times of year compared to when they usually would.

**General notes:**

Areas of this will require a lot of suspension of disbelief. I've taken a few liberties with certain characters, such as Craig O'Laughlin and Rich Hardbeck. I apologise if people think I've gone too far on occasion, but again, this is mostly to make the story work. Also, Grace and Alo have both been allowed back into Roundview. Or rather, David Blood allowed Grace to continue there and let Alo back in after he promised to clean up his act.

I would normally write the Mentalist fan fiction in American English. As this was written for the Skins Big Bang and originally started out as a Skins plot bunny with added Red John, I have used my native British English.

Now, onto the fic.

x tromana

* * *

><p><em>Tick tock, the clock<br>__Somehow starts to calm you  
><em>_The clock, slowly sneaks upon you  
><em>_Are you losing time?_

- Clockwork by Julie Atherton

**Part One**

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 01.29am GMT_

He took two steps to the left, then one to the right. At the very last second, he appeared to change his mind once again and veered dangerously back to the left once more. His foot slipped off the kerb and onto the road, nearly pulling his entire body directly in front of an oncoming car.

Fuck. That was shit timing, really.

Aloysius was lucky, however. Under normal circumstances, he would have patted down his body frantically, made sure that everything was where it was meant to be and there were no serious cuts or bruises. Checked that he still had all his possessions: mobile, mp3 player, wallet and that nothing was broken, including bones. Every other close call, he had let out a heavy sigh of relief, to indicate that all was well and there wasn't any problems. Instead, he simply let out a loud, sharp laugh. The situation was bizarrely amusing. And quite frankly, he couldn't give a shit.

"You fucking wanker," the man from the care hollered in his general direction. There was a slight slur to his speech. Clearly, he was driving under the influence, though whether or not that was alcohol, drugs, or both was less obvious. Should probably have left the car at home. Like Alo, he didn't seem to give a fuck.

Alo, however, didn't have time to snap an angry retort. Instead, he merely flicked his wrist and stuck his middle finger up at the offending driver. That was definitely the most appropriate way for him to maintain his dignity in his current state. Besides, he wasn't quite sure whether or not his mouth was ready to form words again. Well, not yet, anyway. Give it another fifteen minutes or so and then maybe he would feel somewhat coherent once more.

He loved this feeling. The way his mind was effectively cleared from all the shit usually whirring around it, albeit temporarily. How he buzzed from the top of his head to the very tip of his toes. The warm self-satisfied glow that came from the pit of his stomach and warmed his entire body, right the way to the extremities.

Alo was drunk. More than that, he was as high as a kite, too.

Oh he knew all the dangers and had been told the risks time and time again. Theoretically, it should have been enough to deter any interest in drugs for the rest of his life. But that was the problem: theory didn't always work in practise. Besides, it was always natural for teenagers to rebel against figures of authority. Teachers, parents, counsellors, whatever. What did they expect from someone like him? For him to toe the line and meekly follow each and every one of their instructions? Contrary to the popular belief of those kind of adults, it didn't make a difference. Their horror stories simply made the drugs seem subversive, exciting, cool. And anyway, it was a way of sticking one up at the police. What good had those arseholes ever done for him? For anyone he knew?

Besides, it made him seem cool and edgy to the womenfolk. They liked that sort of thing. Men who stood out from the crowd. Who weren't afraid to take risks, to try something different every once in a while.

Not that it was exactly working at this particular moment in time. He still hadn't been laid often enough for his liking. Alo, after all, didn't want people thinking he was a loser. Or worse, gay. That would do nothing whatsoever for his reputation.

But tonight, he was going to do something about it. For tonight, he was invincible. On top of the world.

And Liv was walking directly towards him.

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Monday, 05.29pm PST_

With his tongue poking determinedly out of the corner of his mouth, Patrick Jane laid on the office floor. He let out a quiet sigh of relief; Lisbon hadn't noticed. Yet. It was only a matter of time. Then again, the woman always seemed to find herself deeply engrossed in paperwork after a heavy case, to the extent that it was almost impossible to break her out of her reverie. Really, she was a far more fascinating woman than that. Jane knew full well that she had a wide variety of interests; he'd spent long enough picking her brains and reading her body language to know her inside out. However, if a stranger walked into her office right at that moment of time, it would be forgivable if they were to think otherwise.

It was all well and good for her to be so stimulated by something so mundane, but he was bored.

Then again, it didn't take much for him to reach that state. Jane didn't find it as much of a problem if they were working on a case and he had to wait for a plan - his plan - to come to fruition. Then, there was a point to the waiting, a reason for the lull. Usually, when they finished a case, they had another to be hurled straight into. It wasn't unusual for the Serious Crimes Unit to be running several cases concurrently as well as dealing with those headed to court either. However, crime in California seemed to have taken a hit. Like the criminals had exhausted themselves after a long and busy summer. Even the other units in the CBI appeared to have no need for his considerable expertise. Tomorrow was a court day for Lisbon, which meant he would be doomed to boredom. Unless, he snuck in of course and then things could get interesting. But at this moment in time? He had nothing to do. Literally. Case closed, no other ones to work on. Unless he could be bothered to dig out a cold case or two to pore over, but he couldn't. Jane wasn't sodesperate that he would willingly offer himself up for unnecessary work.

Instead, he rummaged around in his pocket and grinned when he finally managed to pull out a small rubber ball. Then, he frowned slightly. Jane had meant to give it to the young son of the victim involved in their last case. That obviously hadn't happened; an unusual slip of the mind for his part. Still, it was fortuitous in a way, mainly because it meant that he actually had some kind of entertainment now. He bounced it once against the back of Lisbon's desk and then a second time.

Then, she snapped.

It hadn't taken her long, all things considered. Normally, Lisbon had more patience than several saints combined. She also had very little reason to be so short-tempered. He'd behaved, for a change, during their current case. Red John had been quiet for a while, so there was no stress on that front. However, there was still the matter of the ongoing investigation into the death on CBI territory. Of their only link to Red John, but that was something that should be troubling him more than her.

"Do you mind?"

"Not really. Do you?"

Lisbon tutted and sighed. Jane knew she was about to switch into the 'direct approach'. It was what she always used when she thought she wouldn't get anywhere with him.

"What are you doing lying on my office floor and playing with a child's toy?"

"Stopping myself from getting bored."

"Why don't you just go home? There's nothing left to do here until morning."

"But you'll be here alone."

"Yes, because I'm writing up the Garcia case. The one where you broke into Garcia Enterprises illegally?"

"Ah. Oh yes, but I think you'll find-"

"Look," she interrupted, though more softly this time. "If something comes up, I'll call you, okay?"

Jane nodded and left. He knew Lisbon would be pleased with that one, would think that she had actually succeeded in expunging him from her office with little to no effort. However, he knew that it was always useful to maintain unpredictability.

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 02.13am GMT_

Liv was easy. Everyone knew that. So, she'd slept with Nick a couple of times and had appeared to be getting things somewhat steady with Matty. She had tried splitting up with Matty, if only for a little while, but for some reason, had been drawn back to him. But all that didn't make a fucking difference. It was common knowledge that Liv would fuck anything in sight, provided she'd drunk enough or taken enough drugs. Or both.

So she'd never actually made a pass at Alo. Then again, he hadn't tried it on with her before now either.

He'd almost tripped over his own feet as he attempted to catch up with her. Still, he'd persevered. Alo wasn't going to let the small issue of a matter of metres get in the way of getting laid.

"Fuck. Shit."

Liv had stopped and turned, cocking an eyebrow. Immediately, he could tell that she was somewhat surprised to see him on the same street as herself. If he hadn't been completely out of it, he would have questioned why she wasn't with Matty. Why she was alone. Why somebody, anybody, else wasn't getting lucky with her. So, she wasn't as hot as Grace or Mini or as quirky as Franky, but that didn't mean she didn't have her charms. There had to be _something _about her for her to be able to have sex so often.

"You're wasted."

"So are you."

But that was three quarters of an hour ago now. A lot changed in that time. To be honest, everything had changed in a millisecond, never mind minutes.

That was how long it took for bliss to turn to agony.

Alo wasn't quite sure what had happened, but he knew Liv had been compliant. Yes, there was her jacket, slung over by the swings. The park was a lot more private than a street, so they had headed straight there.

However, they'd been interrupted. He hadn't noticed the approaching footsteps, nor the lingering smell of tobacco and body odour in the air. It wasn't until somebody had punched the living daylights out of him that he realised they weren't alone at all.

When he'd come around, a man, presumably the one who'd whacked him around the head, was hovering over Liv.

Slowly, the man turned to face him and Alo shrank back slightly.

"Give me your wallet."

"Why?"

"I said give it to me."

Nervously, he stood, whilst rummaging in his pocket. Eventually, his fingers came into contact with a hand gun. Alo couldn't remember putting it in there, but he knew it was probably one of his Dad's. A mere tool for use around the farm, to defend the crops from vermin. At that moment in time, he didn't care that it should be in the lock up. In fact, it simply seemed like a moment of good fortune. The other man had a knife, so this equalled things out a bit. He had the right to defend himself, to protect Liv, didn't he?

The man lunged.

With his eyes tightly shut, Alo had pulled the trigger three times. It was stupid, dangerous, he knew that. However, he hadn't been thinking straight. There was still a cocktail of drugs and alcohol coursing through his system, mixed with a healthy dose of adrenaline. Besides, he'd never pointed a gun at another human being before. Rabbits, pheasants, crows, he thought nothing of. But people? He'd had it drilled into him at a young age that you _never _do that.

He never saw the bullets pierce through Liv's skin. Neither did their assailant, who had fled the moment he realised that Alo actually knew how to use a gun.

Alo knew that if somebody told him forty minutes ago that Liv would be laying in front of him, in the middle of a playground, surrounded by cigarette butts and empty bottles of booze, he wouldn't have believed it. Well, he'd have been slightly sceptical at least. Normally, Liv found a man's bed to crash in, somewhere. When they added the fact that her body was broken, bruised and bloodied, he would have laughed in their faces.

Nervously, he checked for a pulse. No sign of it. Breathing? Nope.

Why the fuck hadn't he aimed properly? Removed the bullets? Put in fucking blanks or something? Why couldn't he have just used the gun as a scare tactic, rather than an actual offensive weapon? He was a stupid, fucking shithead and because of that, one of his mates was bleeding to death on the ground.

And why the fuck had it taken him far too fucking long to even fucking notice?

Nervously, Alo laid his head on her chest. There was no heartbeat either.

"Liv," he yelled. "Liv, wake up!"

He repeated the words and shook her shoulders desperately. Tried CPR, something that probably was doing more harm than good and staunching her wounds. Anything that would make her at least the slightest bit responsive.

After five minutes, he was exhausted. His voice had grown hoarse from the yelling.

Liv was dead. He'd killed her. He hadn't even meant to; it had just spiralled out of control.

Fuck.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks, as always, to Miss Peg, whom this fic wouldn't exist without.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Two<strong>

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Monday, 06.13pm PST_

Lisbon sighed and quickly, she glanced at her clock. It was funny how time always seemed to slip away whenever you needed it the most and yet, when you just wanted it to hurry on by, it dragged and dragged. She hadn't even made a real dent into the stacks of paperwork that had slowly but steadily been building up either. However, it could be worse. Jane could still have been there, bouncing that childish rubber ball up against her desk. Or tried to convince her to do something he deemed far more 'interesting'. She did try to make time to socialise with her team on occasion, to enjoy drinks with them and the like, but sometimes she just couldn't justify it. That was the price of power and all that.

Eventually, she hauled herself out of her chair. So, she hadn't even been working solidly for an hour, but if she didn't do something about it soon, the evening was going to feel even longer. It wasn't long before she was in the kitchenette, with a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. Briefly, she toyed with the thoughts of how Jane would respond to the situation. How he would comment on the way caffeine stunted growth and that she should cut down and drink a healthier alternative. She allowed herself to smile briefly. Sometimes, she wondered if the hard work and sacrifices were worth it. What it would be like to have a break from leading the team, if only for a week or so. Just to rejuvenate herself a little, free herself of the responsibilities of worrying what crazy stunt Jane was about to pull next.

She jumped as her cell phone rang and she quietly cursed at herself. It was ridiculous. Lisbon was used to having the object on her twenty four hours a day, seven days a week and permanently turned on. It was the nature of her job. If she was working, her phone was a necessity and if she wasn't? It was highly likely she was on call or if not, she could expect a telephone call from somebody important anyway. Sometimes, she wished they could go back to the days without the constraints of such devices, but the rest of time Lisbon remembered just how damn unpractical that was.

Besides, on this occasion it was her boss. There were no surprises there. As hard as Lisbon worked, sometimes it seemed like Special Agent Hightower worked ten times harder. And not only that, but Hightower also managed to juggle a hectic family life too. She knew there were people who thought she had her eyes on the position, maybe when Hightower left or something, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. Too much politics was involved in being a Special Agent and that was something Lisbon loathed. Besides, she liked the satisfaction of working with a close knit team in order to bring down the bad guys. It felt so much more fulfilling then pacifying people who thought they were better than the common man.

Anyway, there was a reason Hightower called. That was because of yet another case. Dead bodies could never wait until morning, but Lisbon knew she could at least be grateful that the callout hadn't occurred in the dead of the night. Then again, it also did no good to the mountain of paper she had been intending to conquer on her desk either. Quickly, she bid farewell to Hightower, wanting to get on the move as soon as possible. In a matter of seconds, she was already calling Jane.

"Ah, Lisbon. So you miss me already?"

"Shut up."

"Well it's a little hard to have a conversation with you on the phone if I…"

"You're a jinx, I swear. We have a case."

"How nice," Jane replied somewhat primly. "You only ever call to let me know people are killing each other or that we're about to catch a murderer."

"Whatever," Lisbon answered in response, knowing full well that he was exaggerating the situation on purpose. "How soon can you be here?"

"How about now?"

She jumped as she felt a hand graze her left shoulder and turned to see Jane standing just behind her. Lisbon narrowed her eyes; she should have remembered by now that Jane acted as if he didn't actually have a home to go to and merely used the headquarters as his base of operations these days. It wasn't healthy and though she told herself time and time again that there was little point in it, she continued to worry about him. Then again, it was only natural. They had known each other for the best part of a decade now; if anything happened to him, including Red John, she wouldn't forgive herself.

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 03.17am GMT_

"Fuck."

Rich knew something was up the moment he'd heard Alo's frantic voice on the other end the phone line. It had taken him less than hour to get to the quiet park, which was apparently abandoned in the dead of the night. Apart from Liv's prone corpse and Alo sitting beside her, hugging his knees and rocking to and fro, that was. This was just fucking mental, wrong. Something he'd never dreamed of happening, ever. Yeah, the group had its tensions but for that to boil down to murder? That was fucked up beyond belief. None of them were capable of that, were they?

Then again, Alo was the only one who actually knew how to handle a gun. His Dad had taught him as kid, had taken him out hunting for rabbits and the like. Access to it was no problem. But why Liv? It wasn't as if Alo had any particular problem with her. No, that was Mini who was still fuming over the Nick debacle.

Rich had always thought that Alo was essentially harmless, unless you had two long ears and a fluffy tail, that was.

Still, he closed the gap between himself and Alo with two long strides. He needed answers and fast. It didn't take a miracle worker to figure out that his friend had spent the evening getting completely wasted and hoping to get laid. Obviously, more than that had to have happened for this to happen though. Swiftly, he grabbed his best friend's jacket by the lapels and hauled him to his feet. Despite Alo's obvious panic, Rich calmly stared into his eyes and waited for Alo to pull himself back together again.

"What the fuck did you do that for?"

"It was an accident, alright? I didn't fucking mean it. We were disturbed and…"

"Swear it."

"What?"

"Swear it on something that fucking means something to you."

"I swear alright? I swear on the copies of Asian Fanny Fun I have under my…" Alo started, but drifted off when he saw the look of scepticism in Rich's eyes. "On Rags! I swear on Rags' life. I didn't meant to, okay?"

Rich loosened his grip slightly and Alo finally relaxed. He knew that of all people, Rich was the one he could trust. Besides, Rags wasn't something to joke about. He'd nearly lost his faithful companion once before through sheer idiocy and wouldn't dare risk it again.

"My parents. They're gonna kill me. They already thought I was a fucking useless shit-head," Alo whispered, relieved to finally have somebody to talk to. "You can fix this can't you?"

There was a note of timidity in Alo's voice that Rich hadn't been expecting. Normally, he was so full of bravado and arrogance, that it was easy to forget that sometimes, Alo was still just a vulnerable young man. That he was going about his life, drifting and directionless, hoping desperately that something would eventually click into place.

And now this. Theoretically, it could have been the last nail in the proverbial coffin.

It still could be, if they weren't incredibly lucky.

But Rich had a plan. It didn't take him long to think it up, either. He summarised it as quickly as he possibly could to Alo, all the while rummaging in his backpack for a specific something. There wasn't much he needed. Just a Swiss Army knife and something else. Alo's jaw dropped when he saw two yellow gloves dangling in front of his nose.

"Rubber gloves? Who the fuck carries rubber gloves with them?"

"Me," Rich responded promptly.

"Why?"

"In case I need to do some washing up."

"Yeah, but _why_?" Alo repeated, still completely bemused.

"I have eczema."

"Oh."

They fell into a brief silence, their eyes briefly lingering over Liv's body. Rich knew the playground design was somewhat fortuitous; the climbing frame had a perfect wall needed for his plan to work. But at the same time, it was still Liv. What he had to do felt wrong, like it was sacrilegious, disrespectful.

Still, she was dead and he couldn't do anything to help her now.

Alo, however. If they could pull this off, he could still live his life a free man.

"Pass me your knife."

"What should I do?"

"Nothing. Wait. Watch," Rich snapped angrily, not wanting to discuss the situation with him anymore. "Keep a lookout for other people. I don't fucking care."

All he wanted to do was get it done and get the fuck out of there.

_Merced, CA, USA, Monday, 08.48pm, PST_

The journey seemed to take far longer than Lisbon would have liked. Sometimes, she just wished that cases wouldn't crop up seemingly out of nowhere. That people could just take a break from killing one another. Then, she might actually have had half a chance of getting on top of her backlog of paperwork. It may have been dull, but it was still necessary, regardless of what certain individuals of her team thought. Besides, she hadn't really been in the mood to be in a confined space with Jane for any period of time. Or at least, she had wanted a break from him until morning. Of course, she had no such luck. Sometimes, she wondered if she ever did.

Still, they had finally arrived at their destination, only five minutes or so after Cho and Rigsby had. It was a hotel room. Comfortable enough to stay in for a while, but not excessively expensive. The lodger had personalised it somewhat, suggesting that he intended to stay put for a significant period of time. Probably due to work or family, as was usually the case. Jane quickly surmised that it was more likely to be the former than the latter, especially given the script slung carelessly on the dressing table. With a slight smirk, he eventually decided to join them to scrutinise the corpse of the day.

"So, what have we got?"

"Caucasian male, forty-two, died from two stab wounds, using a bread knife or something similar," Cho answered, supplying the information as quickly and succinctly as ever. "Coroner says he's been dead for at least four hours."

"Anything else?" Lisbon asked, a little frustrated at just how late it was already getting. "Name? Anything?"

"He's an actor."

Lisbon rounded on Jane. Though she was perfectly used to him plucking information seemingly out of nowhere, there were just some times when she really couldn't be bothered to deal with it. As he had already spent most of the day pestering her, this was one of those moments. She waited for him to explain himself, but of course, he just cocked an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction and offered a sunny smile. Of course, the perpetual thorn in her side wasn't done for the day.

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"Come on, isn't it obvious? The hair, the perfectly manicured fingernails? The suit that's expensive but not too expensive?" Jane asked, throwing out the details with casual ease, as if he hadn't spent the past five minutes scrutinising everything in the room. "It all suggests someone who has to look good for his career, yet is living on a budget and out of a suitcase. Oh and there's a script on the table. The 39 Steps. Interesting."

"Sorry I'm late," Van Pelt interrupted, quickly joining them. "I got held up."

She pretended to ignore the flash of jealousy in Rigsby's eyes. They both knew that 'held up' was another way of her saying she had been with O'Laughlin, but he had been reluctant to let her go so early into their evening. However, the bastard should have understood; he was part of the FBI. Therefore, he should have been able to comprehend that Van Pelt's career came above virtually everything else in her list of priorities.

"Right, Rigsby, I want you to find the local theatre, find out who didn't show up for tonight's performance…"

"It's Harrison Hayes," Van Pelt answered sadly, much to everyone else's surprise. When the eyes of the others all fell on her, she blushed slightly. "What? I saw him in a play last month."

Eventually, Lisbon took a few steps away from Hayes' body and headed towards the hotel room door. Forensics wanted to do their job and quite frankly, she had seen enough already. Besides, she had to get back to Sacramento that evening. Despite the fact that they had a new investigation, she still had to testify in court in the morning. That meant that the preliminary interviews would have to be conducted by the rest of the team. It didn't bother her much these days; they had all been working with one another for long enough to know they could trust each other. Well, that was provided that Jane didn't get any funny ideas and decide to mess everyone around.

"Van Pelt, I want you to organise rooms for yourself, Rigsby, Cho and Jane," Lisbon instructed swiftly. "The rest of you, question the cast and crew as soon as they come off stage. Call me as soon as you find anything."

Jane opened his mouth to protest, but Lisbon had already left the room. Normally, he would argue, but he quickly decided that it could still be theoretically interesting to question the actors. They were the kind of people who were always more inclined to hide under a mask. That was always fun to toy with. Besides, he could tell Lisbon probably needed a break from him. There were only so many of her buttons he could push without serious repercussions.

And anyway, he knew that she would be back in Merced by the afternoon. She could never leave her team to their own devices for too long without getting a little edgy.

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **After I upload part four, I shall be moving this to the crossovers section, where it truly belongs.

Thank you to xanderseye for reviewing part two - I'm glad you're taking a chance on this despite being unfamiliar with Skins. Also to Miss Peg, as always.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Three<strong>

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 04.48am, GMT_

The van.

He fucking loved this contraption. It had been hell trying to get it fixed after Rich and Grace's not-wedding, but it had been worth every second of time and energy. Without it, he had no way of getting to and from the farm with ease. Besides, it gave him a place to crash for the night whenever he needed to. A portable bed was always a bonus in his eyes.

However, it wasn't as comforting as usual. Normally, Alo could drift off with ease, happily dreaming of the future and everything it entailed for him. Sure, most of it was just wishful thinking, but it didn't stop it from being pleasant, like a decent wank. However, on this specific night, it was cold and unforgiving. He could still remember the feel of the backfire from the gun as the bullet exploded from it and the distinct tang of iron in the air. The look of mild shock mixed with sheer panic in Liv's eyes. The terror as he realised that everything he did to try to help her was in vain.

Red John. That was what Rich had said. Red John, he was an American serial killer, one that nobody over here had ever heard of. That was why he was butchering up Liv. That was why Rich, with an element of disgust, dipped his fingers into her still-warm blood and painted a fucking creepy smiley face on the playground equipment. Why he painted her toenails in her own blood. Because Red John did it; he was a serial killer, who meant business. It wouldn't take long for the police, however laughably pathetic they were, to work that one out. Alo had asked Rich how the fuck he knew all that, but he'd just brushed him aside. Said that he didn't have time for explanations. That he would sort it out later. It was strange just how easily and willingly he'd come up with it as well. Like he had almost been preparing for the moment. Did Rich really think that he would fuck up so badly one day, that he'd actually need help covering up something like this?

Was he really that much of a screw-up that his mates thought he was really capable of idiocy like this?Then again, if they did, he'd just proven them absolutely right.

Meanwhile, Rich hadn't even bothered going back to bed. What was the point? Within four hours, he'd already be at college again and there was no fucking way he'd be able to sleep. Not when he'd seen Liv, someone who, despite all her recklessness, seemed so permanent, in such a state.

Besides, he had things to do.

Like destroying every single last piece of evidence he could. The gun, he'd already dumped that in the harbour, along with Alo's Swiss Army knife. Now, he was just gathering as much of his research into Red John together so that he could burn it, along with their clothes. The more evidence he destroyed, the less likely the police were to find out about Alo's - and his - involvement. When it went up in flames, it was going to be a little sad. Rich had spent years looking into Red John, simply for his own amusement. That was how he knew that the faked crime scene was relatively shoddy compared to a true Red John murder. That couldn't be helped. The gaping gun shot wound in Liv's abdomen would give it away immediately. However, the police in the UK were quite frankly, idiots. They wouldn't know it was a cover up. They would just see the smiley face and freak out like the bunch of shit head losers they were.

He hadn't stopped to think about Liv's family, her other friends, not even Grace. Not yet, anyway. Then again, he had barely come to terms with the fact he would never see Liv again. So, they weren't as close as they could have been, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Rich hadn't even bothered starting to think about how he had committed a major crime, simply to try and help Alo either. Drugs, under-age drinking, that was all petty stuff. Nobody fucking cared about it. So what if teenagers were having a spliff or two. Who cared if him and his mates got plastered and then had rampant sex after a night out? It was trivial. But murder, accidental or otherwise? That was a whole other ball game.

And not something Rich could easily come to terms with in a matter of hours.

_Merced, CA, USA, Monday, 11.32pm, PST_

"So, where were you between the hours of one and six p.m.?"

The woman stared at Rigsby, agog. Surely it should be obvious? She was at the theatre, rehearsing. New building, new exits and all that. Amalia Ford was a professional and therefore, she liked to ensure that she knew everything back to front and upside down before opening in a new location. Harrison Hayes had been exactly the same, so when he hadn't turned up for rehearsal, she had been somewhat concerned. It was unlike him to not bother calling if he wasn't going to turn up, too. Despite the fact she had been worried, she got on with the show, as best she could, assuming that Hayes had been ill and had crawled straight back into bed before he even had a chance to pick up his cell phone.

For some reason, they hadn't been able to get hold of the understudy either. With such a small cast, it was hard whenever one of them fell ill, but this was showbiz. Regardless of what happened, the show had to go on.

"I was here, at the theatre, rehearsing. Where else would I be?"

Cho nodded when Rigsby glanced at him. It matched up with what the rest of the cast and crew were saying. The only people that had been missing during that allotted time slot were Hayes' understudy, the stage manager and Hayes himself. Jane, however, stopped his pacing and approached Ms. Ford swiftly. She looked visibly nervous until he shot her one of his brightest smiles and immediately, she relaxed. There was something unnerving about a focused Jane, one desperate to seek out the truth. If anyone could charm the blood out of a stone, Patrick Jane could and Amalia could tell that with just one glance.

"Oh I don't know," Jane answered nonchalantly. "Elsewhere, in your hotel room, perhaps? Well within the vicinity of the crime scene. With your secret lover, of course."

He grinned as her eyes flickered towards one of the stage hands. The girl attempted to disappear out of the dressing room, but Cho was quicker. Amalia flushed a deep red and didn't answer.

"But you're too professional to miss a rehearsal for that, aren't you, Ms. Ford?" he whispered and she nodded slowly. "Sorry, my bad."

Rigsby and Cho exchanged glances. It was typical of Jane to immediately interrupt interviews and attempt to ruffle a few feathers as quickly as possible. Despite having worked with him for several years, they still weren't entirely sure of the purpose of this. Sometimes, it was to sow seeds for future reference. Maybe it would turn out that Amalia had paid someone to kill her co-star simply because he had found out about her illicit affair with the young girl? However, it was equally likely that he was bored, without having Lisbon to share a verbal sparring match with. He needed to find his entertainment elsewhere and if that was by embarrassing innocent women, then so be it.

"That is unprofessional, Mr. Jane," she immediately snapped once she had regained her composure. "And you two? You should be ashamed of yourselves. Letting him get away with it like that. I should like to speak to your superior."

"That would be Agent Lisbon, ma'am," Rigsby muttered and handed her a card. "You'll be able to get hold of her on this number."

"Very well. Is this charade finally over?"

When Rigsby nodded and indicated to the door. Amalia quickly swept out of it, but not without one last derisive look at Jane. The three of them remained in silence for a brief while, before Jane broke into laughter with Rigsby quickly following suit. When they calmed down, Cho eyed them both seriously, reminding them that somewhere, there was a killer on the loose and it was their job to track him or her down.

"You don't think she'll really complain do you?"

"Oh yes," Jane answered, still smirking. "Despite being in such a cut-throat business, actors always seem to have a surprisingly thin skin, don't you think?"

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 10.42am, GMT_

"You alright?"

It was Mini. Alo had barely noticed that she had joined himself and Rich. Then again, he hadn't listened when Matty and Nick announced that they were bored and had drifted off for a viciously fought match of table football.

"I said are you alright, farm boy?" Mini eventually repeated slowly, once Alo had graced her with a glassy-eyed expression.

"Yeah, fine. Great," Alo babbled, returning his gaze to the floor. "Fantastic even."

"You look like shit."

"Ah, heavy night. Fun. But heavy. Nothing went wrong. Definitely not. Should do it again sometime, yeah."

Mini raised a sceptical eyebrow. Something was wrong with Alo, but she couldn't be sure what. The only other time she had seen him in such a state, his Dad had just been hospitalised. He hadn't said a word at the time, merely disappeared in a flurry of tears. It was weeks after the incident when she found out what had happened and that had been unintentional. She wouldn't have been entirely surprised if something not dissimilar happened now. That seemed to be Alo's way; to bottle it up and hope for the best.

"Have you seen Liv?"

"Liv? Nah. Not since yesterday."

She didn't notice Rich glance upwards, with a slight smirk written across his features. Of course he knew that Alo was lying outright, but Mini was completely oblivious to that. In fact, the moment that Grace and Franky joined them, she started to ignore them immediately. That was, despite the fact that Grace had immediately draped her arm around Rich's shoulders. Alo didn't even question why Mini was after Liv; he tried to pay as little attention as possible to the fluctuations in their friendships. It all seemed so inane and pointless. One moment they were the best of mates and the next, they couldn't stand the fucking sight of one another.

Besides, Alo already knew that it would make little difference anyway. He was exhausted and yet, had dragged himself into college for the hope of a distraction. Instead, all he was doing was sitting, miserable, in the common room and wishing that he was anywhere but here. Seeing the gang operating relatively comfortably without Liv seemed weird, foreign somehow. Like something subtle, but important was missing. They were all acting as if life was going on, entirely normally. Like their worlds weren't about to come crashing down around them. Sooner or later, they would find out that Liv was dead and then, everything would be completely different. Excepting Mini, nobody had even asked after Liv. They had all simply assumed that she was sick, most likely due to a hangover. That she couldn't be bothered to get her sorry backside out of whoever's bed she'd crashed in that morning.

At least Rich was alright, or at least he seemed to be. He still hadn't had a chance to ask him if he was okay, to apologise for being such a fuckwit. To thank him for helping him out of this sorry mess. That he appreciated Rich's intervention and the calm attitude he had taken to it all. Rich was like a rock. Everyone needed a mate like him. He just told it like it was and if somebody _really_ needed him, he would immediately help them out of the mess.

But what he had asked Rich to do was still perverting the course of justice. Accessory to murder or some crap like that. Something that would land him a hefty sentence in prison, if the police ever found out.

And Rich had just brushed him aside the moment they had seen each other at college. He'd acted as if he wished Alo's parents hadn't decided to allow him back into Roundview in the first place. Alo, naturally, had followed him like a loyal golden retriever, because that was the only thing he could think to do. However, he knew Rich was angry. Then again, Rich often was, but this time, there was a justifiable reason behind it.

David Blood burst through the doors and they quickly fell silent. Partially because it was unusual for the head to grace the common room with his presence, but mainly because he was followed in by two sombre looking police officers. Alo glanced at Rich wildly, with Rich shaking his head slightly in response. As far as he was concerned, Alo should have realised that this would happen sooner or later and therefore, should have mentally prepared himself for it. Grace was also immediately worried; her initially thought being that somebody had spilled about their latest escapade using drugs. If her parents found out, then the second chance to attend Roundview would immediately disappear down the drain.

"It has come to my attention that your friend, Olivia Malone has been murdered," he announced, barely stopping for them to come to terms with the revelation. "And these officers wish to question you about your involvement. Now, do carry on and please co-operate for a change."

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thanks, as always, to Miss Peg.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Four<strong>

_Sacramento, CA, Tuesday, 05.46am PST_

Sometimes, it felt to her like she perpetually woke just before daybreak. That was entirely down to her career and Lisbon sometimes wondered if she would actually feel somewhat more rested if she had chosen a more sensible career path. Something like banking or administration. Then again, she realised that if she had, she would have been perpetually bored. Even though her job already required a fairly significant amount of paperwork, at least it provided the opportunity to go out in the field. She got to have a break to the monotony and do something of interest.

And most importantly, it was her chance to do some good.

Naturally, one of the most striking memories of her childhood was that of the day her mother died. It was then when she realised that she needed to do something that helped. Any old mundane career simply wouldn't be good enough. Most kids in her shoes would probably have picked out the doctors or nurses. She might have done, if they had managed to save her mom's life. Instead, it was a kind policewoman, a girl who had only just graduated from the academy that she had fixated on. The rookie was the only one who had time to sit alongside her, explain to a terrified teenager that everything would be okay sooner or later. That woman had been the only bright spark in a very dark period of her life. Lisbon knew that if she could offer the same solace to somebody else every so often, then it was a job well done. Her career and the sacrifices she had made would be entirely worth it.

Days like today, however, equally made her seriously question the point of it all.

For today was a court day. Instead of being in Merced with the rest of the team, trying to track down a killer, she was stuck in Sacramento. Lawyers were going to try and pick holes in a case that she thought was airtight. Mainly, because they had solved it on one of Jane's many suspensions. She knew that the bastard had been the killer and so did everyone else. However, if the defence lawyer was clever enough, he would find a loophole and another guilty man would be set free. Sometimes, technicalities made her feel sick to her stomach.

But she pushed it aside, albeit briefly. That was something she could worry about when she got there. For now, all she had planned was reading reports. Van Pelt had kindly faxed over a transcript of the interviews from the night before. The younger woman had quickly become a very dependable member of the team. She understood how, as the boss, Lisbon liked to be kept in the loop regardless of whatever else was going on in her life.

Once she sat down, with a cup of steaming coffee in her hand, Lisbon absentmindedly grabbed hold of a different file. Another report, another case. Specifically, the Red John one. Patrick Jane wasn't the only one with an obsession for constantly reading and re-reading it. The main difference was Jane's motives were much less honourable. Still, Lisbon was determined to apprehend Red John before Jane had the chance to do something stupid. The man had already lost enough as it was, never mind foolishly throwing away his life for something as petty as revenge. It wasn't healthy, it wasn't constructive. If she had sought out revenge against everyone who had ever wronged her, Lisbon knew that she would be long gone by now. It was just a shame that Jane couldn't see that, however. Sometimes, she thought she was getting through to him, managing to make him see it from her perspective. Then, he would throw her a curveball, just to remind her that as far as he was concerned, nothing had changed. That she had had no influence whatsoever on what he intended to do.

But she wasn't ready to give up on him just yet. Lisbon had spent so long working with him, that she hoped that sooner rather than later, she would actually make a breakthrough. And if she didn't? Well, she had always had a strange kind of attraction to lost causes and would just keep trying anyway.

Quickly, she scanned her eyes across all too familiar words. Even though the sun was only just beginning to rise and the birds were waking to start their morning chorus, Lisbon found herself reciting it word for word. Though the file had evolved considerably recently, what with the death of Todd Johnson, Red John himself had been relatively quiet.

That concerned her. It meant Red John was probably planning something quite spectacular. Something that would most likely end in misery.

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 08.47pm GMT_

Franky slammed her pint glass down on the table angrily. Suds slopped over the side and onto her fingers, but she didn't seem to notice or care. She left her fingers tightly curled around the glass, her knuckles white from the force being applied. She was angry, of course she was. They all were. It was only natural.

One of their number had been viciously slain and the police didn't have a fucking clue.

Instead, they had wasted their time questioning them about Liv's final moments. Like Professor Blood, they had practically accused them of taking a gun and knife to their mate. Why the fuck would they want to do that? It wasn't normal, it wasn't right. And as per fucking usual, the police were wasting their time and energy whilst the real killer was on the loose. Some crazed maniac who thought it amusing to paint smiley faces on children's playthings.

The officer who had questioned Franky had shown her the picture of the crime scene. In a way, it looked strangely beautiful. That had been her first thought. Unfortunately, the officer had immediately picked up on that. For some reason, they had expected Franky to act with revulsion, disgust at what she saw. But why should she? It was the murderer's way of trying to say 'it's okay, she's at peace now. Smile.' Or, that was the way Franky had seen it anyway. Maybe it was the man, still trapped in his chauvinistic, stereotypical method of thinking. What did he want her to do? Scream out in revulsion, act in horror at seeing her mate, dead? She'd had the warnings, thanks to Blood. For the most part, she knew what to expect when she saw the pictures. It was just the smiley face that stood out.

Immediately, she had asked why the killer had painted it. The officer had demanded that she told him why. Really, she knew she was lucky not to have been frogmarched down to the police station to be charged at that moment. Despite the key fact that she was not guilty, of course.

Quickly, she looked at the others. Mini was still wearing the same hollow expression she had been wearing all day. One of her hands gripped onto Franky's tightly. She allowed the index finger of her left hand to trail slowly around the edge of her wine glass. Rich and Grace were curled up together, the only sign that something untoward had happened was the fact that every so often, they stopped and glanced cautiously at everyone else. Alo still hadn't said a word, his eyes were still filled with unshed tears. After they'd been questioned, Nick and Matty had disappeared down the rugby field, to let off some steam. It was interesting, seeing everyone else's coping mechanisms. The way people reacted to death. Matty in particular was holding up well, considering. He and Liv had been in a relationship. Shared something, even if it was just guilt-free sex. And, she wasn't ashamed to admit that it made _their_ liaisons more exciting, more daring, knowing that Liv was hiding in plain sight. But then again, knowing Matty, it could quite easily all be a façade, he could easily be hiding his true feelings just beneath the surface. Ready to explode. Just as he was inclined to do on occasion.

"Another drink?"

It was Rich who broke the silence and nobody responded, though it had briefly broken Franky's chain of thoughts. Instead, he merely shrugged his shoulders, disentangled himself from Grace and slinked off to the bar. That was what he needed to do. The others were happy sitting together, albeit in silence. United in grief, yet somehow, strangely alone. Franky knew at that point, they were each an island. Even though they were sharing one another's company, they were still essentially alone.

_Merced, CA, Tuesday, 01.41pm PST_

Rigsby scowled as he all but threw the laptop back in its case. He was annoyed; of course he was. Van Pelt had disappeared to answer yet another call from O'Laughlin. That left him doing all the dull chores alone when they were meant to be doing them together. He had been the one who ended up dumspter diving, despite it being her turn to do that least favoured of tasks. At least he had found the murder weapon though, that was better than it all being in vain. The fact that she had disappeared to exchange sweet nothings with her boyfriend meant that it would be even longer until they were on the road and therefore, longer still until they were back in Sacramento. There had never been any intention to stay in Merced for long; it didn't matter that the case wasn't anywhere near being closed. The CBI headquarters was more than close enough to be a base of operations for this specific case. Besides, the organisation didn't have the money to waste on putting up staff in motels unnecessarily.

However, it wasn't really Van Pelt's distraction that was bothering him; it was the fact it was O'Laughlin that she was being distracted by. There was something about the man that irritated him, something that just didn't feel right. He didn't deserve somebody as wonderful as Grace Van Pelt. And truth be told, Rigsby knew that he wasn't really over her. That he was still aching to hold her, to love her, to be with her for the rest of his life. If they had managed to be a little more private, if Jane hadn't worked them out in an instant, then maybe things would be different. Then again, maybe not. Sooner or later, somebody else would have discovered it. Realistically, they had known it was against the rules. That they should never have done it. But there was always something so tempting about the forbidden fruit.

When Jane sauntered into the room, seemingly without a care in the world, Rigsby found his reverie broken. Then, he briefly wondered how Lisbon was doing back in Sacramento. He certainly didn't envy her what with the court day. For some reason, they always seemed to be the worst part of the job. Sometimes, he just wished that once they passed the case over, that was it. It felt a little odd seeing Jane without the boss; sometimes it seemed like the pair were inseparable. More likely, Lisbon just wanted to keep a permanent eye on him simply because she knew that Jane alone was likely to cause more trouble than it was worth. Jane himself was quickly followed in by Cho, who was guiding a handcuffed man inside the room.

"Oliver Schaber," Cho immediately supplied by way of explanation. "The understudy."

"Oh."

Rigsby didn't bother asking why the man was cuffed; it was obvious he had tried to make a break for it when he had realised the CBI was on his trail. Briefly, he allowed his mood to brighten. If the man had been completely innocent, he wouldn't have bothered running and would have willingly submitted himself to questioning. That meant that all the signs were there for a relatively easy case. One with very few problems caused by Jane, which would make a pleasant change for them all.

"Taking him back to headquarters?"

"Yes. Lisbon will want to hear what he has to say for himself."

There was no way Rigsby could fault Cho's logic. He also appreciated his colleague's no-nonsense attitude when he was in a mood like this. Besides, they were nearly ready to make a move.

Really, they were just waiting for Van Pelt to realise that the sooner she said goodbye to O'Laughlin, the sooner that she could actually see him again. But then again, that simple thought settled uncomfortably in Rigsby's mind.

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 01.21am GMT_

He was annoyed.

Of course he was. Alo needed to know more about Rich's plan. Just telling him that it was based on some fucking American psycho wasn't good enough. Nor was knowing that Rich had destroyed his entire 'Red John' collection in order to keep the police's trail firmly off of them. It all seemed so bizarre, almost sacrilegious. He appreciated his friend's help, really he did. But there was such a thing as honouring the dead and what Rich had done…

Well, he had made it all worse, hadn't he? He'd sliced her open like she was a lamb taken to the slaughterhouse. Like she was little more than livestock. And the smiley face. That was what had creeped Alo out the most. It just seemed so wrong. It was something that kids scrawled. The juxtaposition between the park, Liv's bloodied body and the smiley face… that was something that wasn't going to be cleared from his memory for a very long while. If ever, for that matter.

He laid down on his makeshift bed. Alo was back in the van again; he was in no fit state to drive anywhere. Then again, with how he was feeling, he wasn't in any fit state to do anything.

Ultimately, he was a guilty man.

Did it matter that it had been an accident? Not really. He'd still taken a human life. It wasn't as if she were a pheasant or rabbit. They were always practical in their deaths. It protected the fields and provided a cheap meal on the table. Human life was different, there was something more sacred about it. When somebody died so young, it was a tragedy. Especially so when their lives were just obliterated in something as senseless as murder.

Alo had already seen a couple of the preliminary media reports. Words such as shocking, horrifying, grotesque had been thrown around without a second thought. Liv was being portrayed as an innocent soul, caught up in something she ultimately didn't deserve. That was true, to some extent, but it didn't take into account the wonderfully flawed human she actually was. It was biased, keen to highlight just how young she was. And eventually, she would be doomed to being little more than a statistic, regardless of her age.

All he wished was that Rich had bothered to tell him something more. Instead, he had avoided him for the whole fucking night. Spent it wrapped up in his girlfriend's arms. Acted as if he were completely innocent. However, they were in this together now. Technically, the courts would argue that they were both as guilty as each other.

And really, Rich was the only one who could come remotely close to understanding just what he was thinking.

Meanwhile, Rich was resolutely trying not to think of Alo at all. Or Liv, for that matter. He was still angry with his so-called best friend for dragging him into this mess. And of course, he had to go running, didn't he? Be Alo's proverbial knight in shining armour. If, or more likely, when the police realised just who was responsible, they wouldn't care that he hadn't pulled the trigger. Alo was guilty of manslaughter at the very least. Rich knew he wouldn't kill Liv intentionally. But that left him as an accessory. He knew Alo had done it, knew he was guilty and intentionally covered it up. That carried a prison sentence of up to fifteen years. For some reason, he doubted it would matter that he was a minor. Police never seemed to care about small details like that.

Grace's fingers trailed down his chest and he barely noticed. Clearly, he wasn't doing a very good job at not thinking about the sorry mess he'd gotten himself thrown into. Then again, that was hardly surprising. How was he supposed to react in this kind of situation? He'd never been in it before, never known anyone who had either. It was just something he found himself in because of Alo's sheer idiocy.

"What's wrong with you?"

She didn't bother speaking quietly; they were at his place and Kevin didn't care what he did in the privacy of his own bedroom. There was no question of them going back to Grace's home. David Blood still hadn't forgiven them for trying to get married, for trying to break another, albeit somewhat more minor, law. Part of Rich doubted his girlfriend's father ever would. Really, they were lucky that she was still able to attend Roundview for a second year. Then again, all that seemed so trivial, pointless, now.

When he didn't answer and merely stood up, Grace looked affronted. Yes, considering what they had been through today, it seemed a little odd to be trying to have sex. Then again, Liv's death had made her need Rich all the more. She wanted to be reminded that she was still alive, that she could still grow and feel and love. Grace wanted to remember the good times with Liv, not the fact that she was gone and she would never see one of her best friends again.

"No," he answered quickly, before repeating himself. "No, of course not. I'm just going to have a shower. It's… been a long day."

Rich was relieved when Grace didn't seem to notice just how out of character that was for him. Once he was in the bathroom, he leant against the door and slid down it. With his head in his hands, he could only hope that things would eventually get easier again.

_Sacramento, CA, Tuesday, 05.21pm PST_

It seemed like it had taken them all day to get back to Sacramento. A road traffic accident had delayed them significantly, much to Rigsby's irritation. Sometimes, it felt like the world was conspiring against you and today was one of those days. Throughout the journey, Van Pelt had appeared permanently glued to her cell phone. Hearing her mutter sweet nothings to O'Laughlin all the way back had rankled him as much as it had done back in Merced. What he wouldn't give to share one more day with her, to hear her tell him that she loved him again. However, it was firmly in the past and Rigsby knew that it was something that he wouldn't ever get back again. Van Pelt seemed happy in her new relationship and even if she and O'Laughin were to break up, it was unlikely he would have another chance, as one of them would still have to leave the CBI. Quite frankly, they were lucky to have not received a more serious reprimand than they already had done. Then again, Lisbon had taken a lot of the flak for that and in a way, Rigsby wondered if she was still paying for it. Sometimes, she and Hightower seemed to be getting along better than when they first met, but at other times…

He shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking about that. Rigsby knew that Lisbon was the other side of the one-way mirror, waiting impatiently for him to get a move on with the questioning. Usually, he would appreciate the chance to question a suspect alone; normally only Lisbon herself or Cho had the luxury to do so. This was a sign that his boss was pleased with the progression of his career thus far and wanted him to develop further before he chose to move on. Something which he was reluctant to do as he _liked_ working for the CBI. With the rest of the team. With Van Pelt, when she wasn't in one of her loved-up phases with O'Laughlin.

The questioning went slowly. Schaber didn't seem like he wanted to co-operate and Rigsby realized he was losing ground fast. Deep down, he knew that it was simply because the man resented being dragged back to Sacramento, handcuffed, on a hellish car trip that lasted altogether far too long. Nobody would be co-operative after having to endure such a thing. In the end, he wasn't really surprised when not only Lisbon, but Jane joined him in the dimly lit interrogation room. It was only a matter of time before they would take over.

After Rigsby left, Jane immediately took charge of the interview. Lisbon watched as he continually kept taking hold of Schaber's wrist. She had seen him do this before, trying to measure somebody's pulse to see what they were thinking. However, she didn't even need to do that. It was obvious that the man was growing increasingly irritated by Jane's tactile nature; the way he kept snatching his wrist back spoke volumes. But after having a 'fun' day in court, where the perp nearly got off on a technicality had left her feeling drained. Jane wasn't doing much harm, not yet and besides, she had gotten to the stage where she trusted him and his crazy methodology. Though other senior agents remained sceptical, despite the overwhelming evidence that contradicted them, Jane's methodology did actually work.

She had barely been in her seat for five minutes when her cell phone rang shrilly. Quickly, she apologised before slipping out of the room. Lisbon didn't need to look twice at the number to know it was important.

"Hello, Agent Lisbon."

"Bertram, Sir?" Lisbon questioned, somewhat surprised that he was actually calling her. "What can I do for you?"

"I have set up an emergency meeting in thirty minutes. Your attendance is essential."

Lisbon paused for a second. It wasn't unusual for Bertram to make demands like that, but she was certain Jane was beginning to get somewhere with Schaber. Though she knew Cho was more than capable of overseeing the rest of the interrogation on her behalf, she didn't really want to drop everything to meet the director of the CBI. That was something that was usually Hightower's job; normally he had very little to do with the actual agents.

"But I'm just in the middle of-"

"When I said essential, I meant it, agent."

"Why?"

She immediately regretted asking, but Lisbon hadn't been able to stop herself. In all honesty, if she didn't have a clue what this emergency meeting was for, she wouldn't be able to stop thinking the worst until it was over.

"Intelligence in the United Kingdom suggests that Red John may have gone international."

Quickly, she bid Bertram farewell and ended the call. Unsurprisingly enough, that was something that she hadn't wanted to hear beforehand. The only potentially worse thought that had crossed her mind was the possibility she could lose her job. Budget cuts, after all, were biting and the CBI was having to tighten its purse strings considerably. Briefly, she glanced at Jane. He was continuing to pester Schaber, but the man was having none of it. Lisbon immediately knew that he would take this development badly; Red John was not superhuman and the concept of him acting in foreign countries made him seem all the more invincible. After explaining to Cho where she was going and requesting that he took the lead until she was back, she offered a silent prayer. It just _had_ to be a copycat killer, that was the only logical theory she could grasp hold of. As far as she was concerned, Red John had no plausible motive to kill outside of the state of California; it just didn't have the same personal effect on Jane.

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 11.21am GMT_

"Remind me why we're doing this again."

"To offer our support to Liv's mum," Grace explained patiently, "to let her know we're there for her and Maude."

Franky still looked sceptical. It was hardly surprising; unlike Mini and Grace, she hadn't had a chance to forge a real bond with Liv's family. Those two had known Liv for years and had therefore had a chance to develop a relationship with Agnes Malone. Probably to the extent that they almost saw her as an aunt rather than simply a friend's mother. As for herself, she was still the weird freak that the others had picked up at college. The girl who nobody knew if they could trust or not. Most certainly not the type you'd want to invite into the family home, whether your offspring was male or female. And besides, she had only ever seen Agnes fleetingly and really didn't like the idea of sitting with a grieving mother. It was bad enough that she wasn't sure what to make of the situation herself.

Apart from the fact that the killer, whoever he or she was, had style. Had an eye for beauty and irony. Franky still hadn't been able to shake the pictures of the crime scene from her head. It didn't bother her too much, not in the way that it had shaken Grace and Mini up. In a way, Franky knew that she wouldn't mind if it remained with her for a considerable amount of time either. She was unique in the sense that she could appreciate art, even in macabre situations like this.

Mini was the one to knock on the door. Whilst Franky hoped that Agnes was out, she desperately wanted to get in from the rain. Besides, they had nowhere better to go. Of course, they should have been at college, but quite frankly, none of them wanted to face another day there. Not so soon after Liv's murder. Really, they wanted to come to terms with it without having teachers breathing down their necks about pointless things like coursework and applying to universities. Life was brief, fragile and meant to be lived. And if talking to Agnes was the only way Mini could feel like she was doing something about the situation, then that was what she was going to do.

It felt like an age had passed until the door slowly swung open. Agnes Malone's eyes were, unsurprisingly, rimmed red from the copious volume of tears she had undoubtedly shed. She didn't seem to expect the arrival of a gaggle of girls on her doorstep, either. However, Mini was relieved when she wordlessly swung the door open and allowed them in. Grace immediately disappeared into the kitchen, extolling the virtues of tea in such a situation. The others disappeared into the living room, where a gathering of sympathy cards was already beginning to take place. Franky was especially relieved when Grace returned, with steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. It provided the ideal excuse not to talk, not to slip up in front of a grieving mother. When the landline rang disturbing the silence, all of them were startled. Quietly, the girls listened to half a conversation, wondering who was on the other end of the line.

"I… that was the police," Agnes muttered after placing the phone down, accompanied by yet another cascade of tears. "They… they believe…"

"Take your time," Mini whispered soothingly, happy to have taken the key role of comforter in the situation. "There's no need to rush."

"They… said that an… um… 'international criminal mastermind' was responsible. Red John."

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six**

_Sacramento, CA, Tuesday, 08.14pm PST_

"No, you're wrong."

Lisbon had never spoken so defiantly to Bertram before. It wasn't because she was scared of the man, far from it, in fact. It was simply because, as director of the CBI, he commanded her respect. He wasn't just her superior, but her superior's superior. Special Agent Hightower glanced at her warily, concerned about how she had spoken, but Lisbon ignored her. She knew her boss was worried about the action she was taking, but quite frankly, she didn't care. There were very few people who understood the Red John case like her. In fact, the only person she could think of with a better insight than herself was Patrick Jane.

Therefore, Lisbon knew she was more than qualified to be able to make the decision that this was most certainly a copycat killer.

And if that wasn't the reason they had called her in to sit through a couple of hours worth of drivel, then what was it? They knew she had better things to do; she had a suspect in custody at that very moment. Not only that, but said person of interest was being subject to Patrick Jane's version of irritation and that made Lisbon feel uneasy. How could she instigate damage control when she was stuck in a meeting with various fat cats panicking over a copycat, of all things? Of course she trusted her team, but it was one thing leaving them to get on with it and another actually being there if things did, for any reason, go astray.

"And what makes you say that, Agent?"

"For a start, the victim has been shot," Lisbon replied quickly, knowing full well that she was exactly right. "Red John never does that and..."

"He has, once. With those copycat killers in Salinger Mill?" O'Laughlin interrupted and Lisbon turned to look at him.

She had almost forgotten that the FBI agent had been invited to the meeting. Really, he had no place to be there. It was strictly a CBI case and therefore, he was a potential leak. Every time they got one step ahead of Red John, something caused them to end up two steps back. If O'Laughlin spread information about the case, about their progress, throughout the FBI, then there could be serious consequences. Only a trusted few deserved access to this case. Indeed, when Bosco - and her heart lurched a bit at the memory of her former mentor and friend - had been lead agent of the Red John case, even she hadn't been allowed to look at the case files.

Unless, of course, they were going to suggest that the case be passed over to FBI hands.

That would make sense. It would explain why they were both present. O'Laughlin had experience working with them and therefore, it would make the transfer swift. But, damn it, it was her case. The one she had always been determined to solve. It would prove her worth as a senior agent. It would make the men she worked with stand up and realise that she hadn't been promoted simply because she was a pretty face. Even years after the fact, they still believed that Minelli had given her job simply because she was a bit of eye candy.

"Jane was there," she replied promptly, "it's obvious that Red John wanted to give them a swift and painless death so that he could deal with him in his own time."

"Is it?"

"And besides, he's never shot a victim and then carried out his distinctive cutting style, has he?"

Lisbon tried to steady her breathing after she finished her concluding statement. It wasn't that she was nervous, it was more of a case of it meaning so much to her. Jane wasn't the only one who had developed a personal connection to Red John. Though she would be loathe to admit it, it was partially because of him that she wanted to apprehend the serial killer. She needed to see justice served for Jane, for the countless other victims. For herself, because every time Red John murdered another innocent soul, she took it as a personal blow.

"That may be the case, but how can you judge, simply from a handful of photographs?" Bertram enquired.

Immediately, she went to retort, but Bertram silenced her with an authoritative hand. Instead, she fell silent and waited for the inevitable.

"The Red John case is being handed over to the FBI. You will be expected to act in a consultancy role, to aid them wherever you can," Bertram announced and Lisbon remained silent. "Do you understand, Agent?"

"Yes, sir."

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 12.21pm GMT_

"The FBI are getting involved," Mini stated sourly as she slammed her wine glass on the table.

They were back, as always, at the Fishpond Tavern. It still felt uncomfortable, knowing that Liv wasn't about to burst through the door at any given moment, taking them all off guard. She wasn't going to be doing anything again. In a week or so's time, they'd get a chance to officially say goodbye at her funeral, but there was a difference between mourning in public and actually moving on from a loss. Whilst several of them had already lost grandparents, it was different to lose somebody who was a mate. They had simply never expected somebody their own age to die. Besides, it was a reminder of their own mortality, that everyone dies sooner or later.

Nor did it help that Liv had died so brutally. If it had been a tragic accident, a drugs overdose, a car crash or something, it might have been easier to swallow. Instead, she had been cut to shreds by some psycho, who clearly had a warped perception of the world. It was a harsh reminder of just how few people they could trust in the world.

"What? The FBI as in the Yanks?" Nick suddenly outburst, taking the others off guard.

He had been particularly quiet of late. It seemed like since Liv's death, he had taken even more of a solace in alcohol than before. Like he didn't actually know what else to do with himself. Since quitting rugby and losing faith in his father, he'd been a shadow of his former self. Now, he was at risk of spiralling even further out of control.

"Fucking Yanks," Rich echoed and Alo murmured in agreement. "Think they know everything."

"Yeah, fuck them," Nick agreed before taking a long drink of his beer.

Grace's eyes narrowed slightly in response. She didn't really appreciate the way that the gang was being so derogatory about an entire nation. For a start, one of her closest friends at Mayberry's had been American, from Malibu, to be precise. However, it was weird for a law enforcement agency to waltz in and take over a case in another country. Then again, Agnes had said that this Red John character had been American, so it made sense. The FBI probably had tonnes of material that the Avon and Somerset Constabulary simply did not have. Besides, she was certain that they wouldn't be taking over, simply assisting. That was all they could do when they were stationed thousands of miles away.

"I don't think…" she started, but the words died on her lips.

"What I want to know is, how the fuck do they think they're going to solve a murder investigation in another country," Franky stated, more thinking out loud than anything.

"They think they know fucking everything, that's why," Nick answered. What with his father, he'd had enough of people butting into things they shouldn't.

There was a mutter of agreement and yet again, they fell into silence. Alo continually glanced nervously at Rich. He had always seen the local law enforcement as being essentially useless. More interested in catching people who parked illegally or bothering kids for playing music too loud or the like than real criminals. But the Americans? They were different. All this talk about them being useless, it was simply bravado. A way to make themselves feel better, to funnel pent-up rage. This wasn't the same as President Obama fucking up or them leading Britain into another seemingly pointless war. This was personal, it affected all of them. Besides, the US police officers always seemed like they had more intelligence, like they actually knew what they were doing. Of course, that view could have been partially warped by the slick crime dramas that Channel Five always showed, but still. Their justice system had always been tougher than it was over here.

And they'd probably work out that they'd merely copied Red John in an instant. Rich couldn't have cut up Liv's body that accurately, it wasn't as if he was as practiced as a fucking serial killer. They wouldn't even need to fly over here to see her body or see DNA analysis about whatever. Then, the police would know to start looking closer to home. It wouldn't take long for them to come knocking on his door.

Alo could positively imagine his poor old Dad answering the door and having a heart attack when the police said they wanted to question him for _murder_. His health hadn't been the best for a while now; something like this could quite easily push him over the edge.

"The question is what are we going to do about it?"

"What do you mean?" Grace asked and Franky stared at her firmly.

"The Yanks can't do anything and our police are useless…"

"We should do it. Catch this genius killer or whoever," Matty said, speaking for the first time in a long while.

"Yeah, we'll show them how to do their jobs," enthused Nick, keen to get started.

"Yeah. Fuck them," Rich muttered, half-heartedly. Like Alo, he didn't like where this was going.

_Sacramento, CA, Wednesday, 02.01am GMT_

After the meeting, Lisbon had attempted to persuade Bertram to change his decision, to allow the CBI full jurisdiction of the case. Of course, nothing she said made any difference whatsoever and that lead to her returning back to the CBI headquarters, in a thoroughly foul mood. She _knew_ that the death of the English girl - an Olivia Malone, apparently - was unrelated to Red John. Though it was just a handful of photographs she had seen, she could tell the cutting style was different, almost amateurish in a way. Then, there was something slightly off about the smiley face. Of course, they would have simply argued that Red John had always altered his MO slightly, that he could have rushed simply because he was in an exposed environment or the like. But still, it didn't feel right.

For a start, Red John always picked out his victims with some kind of thought behind them. There was always a link to him that, somehow, made sense, whether that be revenge for copying his style, something to unsettle the CBI or the like. And besides, the serial killer had developed a more and more personal vendetta against Jane. In the past few years, almost all of his victims were designed to affect Jane's well-being in one way or another. His latest pseudo-victim was Kristina Frye. Lisbon couldn't help but feel for the woman's predicament. After all, she was trapped in a mental institution, convinced she was dead. That she had been murdered by Red John. Surely that was a fate worse than death itself? And the only reason she had been a target was simply because she had gotten too close to Jane. Therefore, what would be the _point_ in Red John going international? Apart from to show off, of course. In all honesty, she had been expecting another attack closer to home at any given moment. It wasn't something that she would admit, but Red John's bizarre silence had lead her fearing for the safety of her team. If anything was to happen to any of them, especially Jane, she knew she wouldn't forgive herself.

Irritated, she slung the manila file into the open box with more force than she had originally anticipated. It wasn't just losing the Red John case, but she had come back to the headquarters, only to be informed by Cho that Schaber was threatening to sue the CBI. Why? Because Jane just had to overstep the mark, didn't he. Really, he was like an uncontrollable puppy. As the file landed in the box with a satisfying thump, her door swung open. Quickly, Lisbon glanced up to see what the interruption was. In the end, she knew she needn't have. It was the graveyard shift; most of her colleagues were at home, snug in their beds. Besides, only Patrick Jane entered her office without having the decency to knock first.

"Jane? What are you still doing here?"

"Oh, you know…"

"No, I don't," she snapped, glaring at him. Jane didn't even have the decency to recoil under her steely gaze.

"What are you doing? Are those the…"

"Yes," she interrupted, not even letting him finish his sentence.

"Why…we didn't lose it again did we?" he asked and quickly realised from her stony silence that yes, they had. "Why?"

"The FBI are taking over."

"What for?"

"Because they think Red John has gone international."

As Lisbon slumped in her chair, Jane eyed her warily. It was obvious she wasn't telling him some kind of sick joke as petty revenge for screwing around with Schaber earlier. She looked too tired, too stressed. And besides, she never liked to bring up Red John unnecessarily. It always reminded her how dangerously close to the precipice between sanity and not that Jane was standing. She always felt like she was dancing on a fine line around him; even the smallest of details could trigger him off.

"That's…"

"Ridiculous? I know. I told them that. They don't care. He has no reason to kill in England, but the British police are scared and Bertram's scared…"

"All it means is that somebody in England is potentially in serious danger. There's a mole in the CBI; Red John probably already knows."

Lisbon nodded in agreement. Red John never approved of slander, nor of people emulating his work. He appeared to have a bottomless pit of money and resources. Would he really just let it drop because it was in a different continent? All she could do was hope that would be the case. After all, if Red John really did decide to deal with his latest copycat, then he really would be going international. Then, they had no chance in hell of getting the case back at all.

**TBC…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Part Seven**

_Unspecified Location, CA, Wednesday, 04.07am PST_

Craig O'Laughlin rubbed his sweaty hands down his pants. He was nervous and justifiably so. If there was one thing he understood, it was Red John's temper and he knew that the serial killer would be distinctly unimpressed by what he had to tell him. Firstly, there was the matter of the killing in England. O'Laughlin knew Red John's plans; that was why he had been instigated into the CBI. In order to organise a private meeting between his shady superior and Patrick Jane. Red John wanted to retire quietly and this copycat had made it appear that he was being more bombastic than ever. Then, there was the fact the CBI had lost the Red John case. Over time, they would grow more distanced from it and eventually, have nothing to do with it all. That meant it threw a spanner into the works.

Then, on a more personal level, it was at odds with his own professional career. O'Laughlin had always been in a strange position. He'd almost been born into his role. Both of them, that was. His father had been a cop and his grandfather before him. His Mom would always say that the name O'Laughlin meant something. Or that if an O'Laughlin was on the case, it was going to be solved _right_. As he went through the ranks, it became obvious that he had potential to exceed the expectations of his parents. When the FBI had head-hunted him, his mother almost exploded with pride. He couldn't reject it, not when he saw just how much it meant to her.

Then, there was Red John. It felt like the serial killer had been an innate part of his life since he was very small. He can remember the man, younger, more energetic, more _fun_, being his babysitter for a while. Somehow, he had never shook him loose. When O'Laughlin was still a student in the academy, he received a harassed telephone call. Red John, though he wasn't called that, back then, had just made his first killing. He needed help, disposing of the evidence. For some reason, it never even crossed his mind to sell his friend to the cops. Red John was like the big brother he never had. In doing so, it would have been like perp-walking his own family.

So instead, he had always blotted out the favours Red John had asked of him at work.

In his darker moments, O'Laughlin considered the fact that he had practically been groomed by Red John since birth. Like the serial killer had known that some day, he would require a cop on the inside to work for him. But for some reason, he didn't mind. O'Laughlin never had done and never would. However, if the FBI was to be lumbered with the Red John case, that meant his two worlds would collide. They would be at odds with one another, for the first time and neither goal would be clear. He had sworn to protect his state and he had vital knowledge on Red John. Yet equally, he had made a private pact to never let his friend down. Silently, he hoped that a solution would jump out at them. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't see a way out of this one. The case was out of the CBI jurisdiction and the only way they could have a remote chance of getting it back would be if it was proven that the English killer was a mere copycat.

O'Laughlin needed to get rid of the case, somehow. He couldn't live like this, so torn between his two responsibilities. How would he choose between being a cop and making his family proud or supporting a life-long friend? If he were unsuccessful, that was what he'd have to do. And in a way, it was Red John's fault that this had happened at all. The only reason he'd been specifically given jurisdiction of the Red John case was simply because he had ties with the CBI. His relationship with Grace Van Pelt supposedly meant they would be less hostile towards him.

He jumped when he heard the door swing ominously open. Instinctively, his hand rested on his holster and slowly, he began to unclip his firearm. Although he was due to meet with a known criminal, some habits died hard.

"You're nervous, Craig," Red John spoke softly, moving out of the shadows as he did so. "Why?"

Almost as instantaneously as he had jumped to attention, O'Laughlin relaxed. He knew he had nothing to be afraid of; Red John wouldn't kill him. They had known each other for far too long and their friendship had lasted longer than Red John's 'career' of sorts. However, he equally knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. There was a reason he had organised this private meeting, after all.

"There's been a copycat killer in England. Bristol, to be precise," O'Laughlin muttered and handed over copies of the case files immediately. "The case has been pulled from CBI jurisdiction and handed to the FBI. My unit, to be precise."

"That's too bad," he muttered, in an all too familiar soft tone. "Stay close to the CBI. I'll fix this."

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 02.43pm GMT_

"Should we really be doing this?" Grace muttered nervously to Rich as they sauntered into the library.

"What do you mean?" he replied quietly, keen not to let anyone else overhear.

Silently, he was thrilled that Grace was having second thoughts. He hated lying to her, but really, felt as though he had little choice. If she were to find out that Alo was responsible for Liv's death, she'd be devastated. He didn't even want to imagine how she'd feel if she discovered the revelation that her boyfriend had helped his mate cover it up as well. Only a few months ago, he'd almost wedded her. She still wore the engagement ring, occasionally. Rich knew he had pretty deep feelings for her, despite how different they appeared to be on the surface. Then again, maybe those differences went deeper than that? He was ninety nine percent certain that she wouldn't hide something of this magnitude from him. However, she hadn't told _any_ of them that she was the daughter of David Blood until she really had to. She had lied to them about her identity for months and they only discovered shortly before the not-wedding. But equally, that wasn't a criminal offence, nor did it have anything to do with something as serious as murder.

"The police are good at their jobs, it's what they're trained to do," she answered.

"But what about the fuck ups we always hear in the news?"

"What about all the good they do we never hear about?" she shot back, leaving him momentarily stunned. "Besides, we should be at college."

He bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. Only Grace could spend half the day skiving off college and then start worrying about the fact they weren't there. Then again, she was the only one seriously considering going to university. The only one with prospects. She had sent off her UCAS application at the earliest possible moment. When she had told Rich, he had half suspected that had something to do with being Blood's daughter. Rich knew that Nick would have probably applied too, if he hadn't lost it all because of Matty's reappearance in his life. It was a shame, just when he appeared to have been getting it all back together, he seemed to have gone completely off the rails again.

The others, with the exception of Nick, who had gone home to sleep off some of the alcohol induced stupor, had already taken to the library's computers. Rich immediately took to the last one, with Grace positioning herself on his knee. It felt uncomfortable, even more so than it should have. He knew exactly what she was going to search for and exactly what it was going to bring up. Years ago, he had typed 'smiley faces' into Google for a school project, only to come across Red John's MO. That was how he'd gotten hooked on the serial killer. It wasn't because he was a metal head or subversive or into crap like that. It was simply because something about Red John's story and the police force after him that had intrigued him.

Quickly, he thought back through his old collection. Said collection was now a pile of ash in the back garden. Kevin would not be impressed, but was probably used to this sort of behaviour by now. But that was besides the point, he wanted to recall the detail. Had Red John ever shot victims before? As Grace loaded up the internet, he racked his brains. Only limited information was leaked to the media and only one known photo of a victim had made it online. There weren't any examples of Red John shooting victims that he personally knew of. However, the most recent Red John case came to mind. Two teenagers, murdered by the serial killer for emulating him. For treating him like some kind of cultish demigod.

"So," Grace said, gently grazing her hand across his cheek. "Should I type in 'smiley face, murder'?"

"Uh, yeah."

He shuddered slightly and Grace looked at him quizzically. What had he done? Would Red John himself find out? Did he have the means to get over to England? Would he be able to trace it to Bristol, to him and Alo?

Would they end up being next?

_Sacramento, CA, Wednesday, 09.48am PST_

Cho stared at the case file for the Hayes murder. He'd been momentarily stunned when Lisbon had informed him and the others of the fact they'd lost the Red John case to the FBI. He was angry, but no doubt not as much as she and Jane were. Lisbon had come straight out with it; there wasn't an easy way to break the news. It had been bad enough when they had lost the Red John case in-house, but then, at least the CBI was still working it. Now, it was just additional fuel for the rivalry between the CBI and FBI. And possibly, more importantly in his eyes, it made the Serious Crimes Unit look incompetent.

Still, that wasn't his main concern right now. He had been given the responsibility of leading the Hayes case. It wasn't the first time Cho had been in charge of a case; he always provided cover for Lisbon's rare holiday dates and even more scarce sicknesses. And of course, there was also the time when she had been suspended through Jane's negligence. That was experience that would prove handy. Besides, she wasn't gone; just focussing on working the Red John case with the FBI. He could report back to her and ask for advice at any time he wanted to. Not that he would, except to give her updates as and when _she_ required them. But still, it was a safety net if things went disastrously wrong. Or rather, if Jane became completely uncontrollable. Then again, Jane was hardly going to pay interest in the murder of an actor, however famous, when there were intriguing developments on the Red John front.

Quickly, he called together Rigsby and Van Pelt. Before Jane had rattled Schaber, he had mentioned something interesting about Hayes' wife. She had apparently been touring with the company, as the director. However, she had taken a significant amount of leave, starting just before the Merced dates and disappeared home, in Nevada, for a while. He knew that Mrs Hayes had been informed of her husband's death. Lisbon had resorted to breaking the news over the telephone, though that had been the last option available to her. However, he couldn't help but wonder if she had something more to say. According to his boss, the woman had taken the news surprisingly well and rushed her off the phone as quickly as possible. Therefore, it was highly likely she was hiding something. Not the murder; she was out of state and had a cast-iron alibi, courtesy of her doctor. Just something related. Eventually, he asked Rigsby and Van Pelt to question Schaber again. He wanted to know the real reason the man hadn't been at the theatre for rehearsals, especially considering Hayes' obvious absence.

That left him to travel to Nevada to question the absent, and apparently unconcerned, wife. This was just another reason to be annoyed at the latest developments. If they hadn't lost the Red John case, then Lisbon would be making the long distance journey instead.

Lisbon, meanwhile, was pacing around her office, waiting for O'Laughlin to turn up. She hated this whole situation. Still, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, a potential way out of the mess. She had heard from Bertram again that morning. The Red John case could be returned to them if they found conclusive evidence that the case in England was a copycat. And preferably, find the real killer despite being over five thousand miles away from where the crime had been committed. Lisbon's team had plenty of experience when it came to tough cases, but this was completely outside of her comfort zone. She knew that she had been over reliant on Jane of late, but even he needed more contact than just a few photographs to solve a case.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Having to deal with the FBI, however, was. Craig O'Laughlin seemed like a nice enough guy and Van Pelt was certainly happy with him, but he was still one of the Feebs. And they all seemed to have superiority complexes. She snorted briefly; this was probably how local Sheriffs felt whenever _they_ rolled up to a crime scene and took over. Unsurprisingly, she didn't like it with the proverbial shoe on the other foot.

She glanced nervously at Jane. He had made himself comfortable on the couch in her office. It didn't surprise her that he had decided to hang back with her, instead of helping Cho out with the Hayes murder. At least he seemed calm. Then again, it was Jane. He was a master of manipulation. Therefore, he was probably just masking his feelings. Lisbon felt like this was the calm before the storm; Jane always lost it whenever they dealt with Red John. This was highly unlikely to be any different.

O'Laughlin eventually knocked on her office door, an hour later than she had expected him. He looked shattered and unsurprisingly so. If he had spent the night in a way anything like her, then the case would never have been far from his mind. Quickly, she offered him a seat and coffee, and he accepted both gratefully. Lisbon took the time to observe him and realised just how little she knew about Van Pelt's boyfriend. He was young, younger even than she was. Did he really have what it took to deal with the Red John case, where many older and far more experienced agents had failed?

He seemed eager. That was a good thing. And he already seemed to have a good grounding. Knew important facts, key moments in the development of the case.

She froze slightly, remembering the meeting from last night. It seemed like he almost knew too much.

No, not almost. He _did_.

"How did you know about the Salinger Mill case?" she asked quickly. "Those details were never made public."

**TBC…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Part Eight**

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 07.42pm GMT_

Mini was uncharacteristically quiet. Normally, she said enough to keep everyone else in the room entertained and that was what Grace was finding so disconcerting. Then again, it was literally just the two of them. After they had left the library, Franky had disappeared, claiming that she had something to do and neither of them had had the energy to follow her. As for Liv, well, that was still self explanatory. And still far too raw. In reality, they had had enough of talking for a lifetime. Talking to each other, the police, to family. It all just seemed to be a never ending cycle of 'how are you doings?' and 'where were you between the hours of twelve and twos?'

With a heavy sigh, Grace flopped down on the sofa, with Mini sitting beside her. She had fished out a bottle of vodka from somewhere, but neither of them were really in the mood to drink it. Again, vodka was really Liv's poison of choice and without her, well, it all seemed that little less fun. However, Grace was grateful for the quiet. Mini's mother was fun, but not really the kind of person she would have wanted to endure at this specific moment in time. Shelley McGuinness would have probably told them to cheer up, have a drink and go find some good looking young men to woo. Remind them that they were in the prime of their life and they didn't have the time to waste it on moping around. That pining wouldn't bring Liv back and besides, their friend 'wouldn't want to see them so sad'. She would 'want them to enjoy themselves'. Grace had already heard enough of those clichés to last a lifetime and truth be told, she only heard them twice thus far. Still, it was already two times too many.

"Drink?" Mini eventually asked, if only in attempt to start a conversation.

Grace shook her head. She was worried. Rich was closing off from her; normally he wouldn't stop talking about the injustices of the world. Whether it was racism, the state of the music charts or politics, he always had something to say on the matter. Whilst she didn't necessarily agree with all of his opinions, it made for stimulating company. Half of her wished she could persuade him to give university more thought, but he always proclaimed that it was a fucking waste of money these days. That you could get the same experience and more by just going straight into the working environment. However, for the past couple of days, she hadn't been able to get more than a sentence out of him in any one go. Half of her knew that it was partially down to Liv's death, but then again, he had never been particularly close to her. Sure she was one of the gang, but they were friends due to their social network rather than having any close emotional bonds.

"Do you think Rich is acting a little strange?"

Once more, Mini didn't answer and simply shrugged. Grace took it as an agreement. If only they could turn back the clocks and stop all of this from happening. If only Doctor Who was real and they could borrow his TARDIS for five minutes or so and save Liv. If only…

The news reporter on television changed stories and it all sounded horribly familiar. Within seconds, they transferred over to the Malone household, where Agnes and Maude were sitting on their sofa, each clutching tissues in their hands. Agnes was, naturally, begging for news on her daughter's murder. It was obvious that she was aching for closure and was convinced that it would only come by knowing that her middle daughter's killer was behind bars.

Angrily, Grace pointed the remote control at the television screen and quickly switched it off. She didn't know anything; she didn't have a fucking clue. If she did, she would help out in a heartbeat. All their research online had been completely useless. It just said that the killer had been nicknamed Red John in the USA and he was a psychopath who specialised in hacking women to pieces. It didn't even give them a shred of idea why he had starting killing over here, in Bristol, of all places.

She placed her head in her hands. Grace could feel the group fracturing because of this and there was _nothing_ she could do about it.

_Merced, CA, USA, Wednesday, 12.12pm PST_

"So, Mr Schaber…"

"That crackpot psychic isn't here, is he?"

"Jane?" Van Pelt asked and Schaber nodded in response. "No, he's… working other leads."

"Good. I have one more thing to say on the matter: I'll drop all charges if he apologises."

Van Pelt glanced quickly at Rigsby. They both knew just how unlikely it was that Jane would do such a thing. If anything, since he started working with the CBI, he had grown even more childish and even more petulant. Persuading him to say sorry was as likely as being able to convince a tabby cat it would be a good idea to take a bath. Still, she nodded, accepting of his demands. Prior experience had told her that in cases like this, it was best to let the person of interest think that they had the upper hand, even if they did not.

"So, why are you here again, anyway?" Schaber asked. "I do have a play to open in two hours, you know. It _is_ a matinee day."

"We know. And we just have a few follow up questions, that's all."

The man glanced at his watch quickly before answering. "Good, just make them quick."

"Why didn't you attend rehearsals with the rest of the cast on Monday?"

"I…"

"May I remind you that it is a criminal offence to lie in situations such as these," Van Pelt stated mildly. It was unlikely that they would press charges, considering they were far more interested in the bigger picture, but it was always handy to rattle the suspect somewhat.

"I had a migraine, that's all."

"And why couldn't you tell us that yesterday?" Rigsby asked.

"For a start, your buffoon was bothering me and secondly, it doesn't look professional, does it? Taking a day off for something as mundane as a migraine…"

Van Pelt bit her lip. On occasion, she had taken days off for that very reason and nobody at the CBI, not even her boss, seemed to mind. Sickness was sickness and had to be treated accordingly. If somebody wasn't fit for work, it was best for them to go home and rest. Then again, on any given work day, she could theoretically have been wielding a gun or being held at knifepoint, so slightly different rules applied.

"Thank you for your time."

"Oh and one more thing," Rigsby added while standing. "How would you describe your relationship with Miranda Hayes?"

"Excuse me?"

"Miranda Hayes, Harrison's wife? What was your relationship with her?"

"She was the director. That's all."

"And really?"

"That is all," he said and Van Pelt raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Fine. We slept together once. And that's all. I swear. Are we done here?"

"Yes, we're done."

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Wednesday, 12.12pm PST_

Lisbon felt like she was banging her head against a brick wall. Admittedly, in the years she had known Jane, that was a fairly common occurrence, but it didn't stop it from being an irritation. He and O'Laughlin were continually baiting one another and thus, they hadn't actually gotten anywhere with the case for the entire morning. Dejectedly, she stirred her coffee. She had used her thirst as an excuse simply to get out of there for a brief while, to have some respite from their arguing. She hadn't known two men to be so antagonistic with one another since… well, since Jane and Bosco. Quickly, she cast those thoughts to one side. There was enough going on without her dwelling on the past.

Really, what they needed was some solid progress. Instead, O'Laughlin and Jane had taken to acting like kids. Both were being as bad as each other; she had heard numerous complaints about the suitability of either of them to work on the Red John case. Realistically, she could see that both of them had a point. Virgil Minelli, ex-Special Agent, had taken the Red John case from them for a reason during his tenure. They - not just Jane, but her whole team - had been getting too close to the case. The only reason they got it back was because Red John had decided to slaughter a whole unit within the CBI, Bosco included. And as for O'Laughlin, well she had been questioning the decision ever since she'd heard of it. Bertram had told them that O'Laughlin had been chosen because he was known with the CBI. It was meant to make the transition fluid. So much for that.

To make matters worse, she still wasn't entirely satisfied with his reasoning behind knowing unreleased details about the Salinger Mill case at the meeting the night before. It was fair enough him knowing now; they'd spent the morning poring over old case files when he and Jane weren't arguing. But she knew Van Pelt wouldn't spill important case details. It didn't matter that O'Laughlin was another cop; it was still confidential. The youngest member of her team knew the consequences of divulging too much information all too well.

"We've decided we need to talk to the family and friends of the deceased," O'Laughlin told her as she entered her office.

"I agree," she replied, casting aside her doubts. "How soon can you organise this?"

"I don't know. If I pull some strings… I'll get back to you."

_Bristol, UK, Thursday, 01.22am GMT_

He'd had enough. Alo wanted answers. Rich had always been a little weird, but he didn't mind that. After all, he was hardly your normal teenager either. They were like some kind of odd couple, a pair of best mates who got each other into and out of trouble. If he could count on anyone, he could count on Rich. That was the main thing for him, the reason why they had both been good friends since primary school. A pair of outsiders who didn't need anyone else because they had each other.

However, Rich was doing something he'd never done before. And that was hiding in a shell, trying to protect himself. He had gone quiet on Alo before, but that was because Grace had been eating up more of his time than usual. However, the two of them had hit a steady patch in their relationship and had learned to balance time with one another and time with their mates. On this occasion, it was different. Scarier, even. To make matters worse, Alo needed to talk about it, needed to understand. The only way he felt less guilty about the whole situation was if he actually discussed it with someone who understood. Unfortunately, Rich's coping mechanisms seemed to have made him do the exact opposite. All Alo really wanted to know was why Red John? How did Rich know about him? Did he have a collection of magazines about gruesome serial killers stashed under his bed like Alo had a collection of porn under his own?

Alo picked up a few stones from the gravel. It was a clichéd method of getting somebody's attention, but really he didn't want to explain to Rich's parents why it was so vital that he talked to their son at one a.m. All this lying was exhausting him and he didn't want to add some more white lies to his already very extensive collection. Besides, he had completely avoided going home since… well since the incident, as he had already taken to thinking of it as. The first pebble missed entirely and it was several more before he heard a response.

"Aloysius?"

His heart sank when he saw Kevin Hardbeck poking his head out of the window _next_ to Rich's bedroom. This was entirely the situation he hadn't been hoping for. Kevin, however smiled brightly before confirming that he would let Alo in immediately. He waited patiently as he listened to the telltale signs that Rich's dad was making his way downstairs.

"Sorry for-"

"Don't mention it," Kevin interrupted, "but next time you want to see Richard, please just knock on the door."

"Yeah, okay."

Alo took the steps two at a time as Kevin closed the door and sauntered into the kitchen. He knew Grace was with Mini, so he didn't bother to knock. Instead, he just swung the door open to be greeted by a room that was doing a very good impression of world war three. That was unusual in itself; despite his appearance, Rich was always meticulous when it came to his belongings. Rich noticed the interruption immediately and turned to face Alo, unconcerned about the fact he had a bottle of moisturiser in one hand and a pair of pants in the other.

"What are you doing?" Alo stuttered eventually, once his mind had caught up with the rest of his body.

"Packing, what does it look like?" Rich answered back, without bothering to look at Alo. "You should do the same."

"Why?"

"Because Red John will know. He'll fly over and…"

"What the fuck?" Alo interrupted, surprised at this latest development.

"Look, if we don't get away now, Red John will…."

"Hold it, why the fuck are you only thinking of this now? Why did you-"

"You try thinking of a fucking plan to get your mate out of murder in half a fucking second," Rich hissed back, still angry that the situation had gotten so far out of control.

"Why involve me at all? Why the fuck couldn't you have told the fucking police the _truth_?"

Alo watched as Rich paced ceaselessly around his bedroom, running his hands through his hair. Nervously, he perched on the edge of Rich's bed as his mate continued to throw his belongings into a large backpack. Again, he wished Rich would just discuss everything properly. Make him understand why he was so scared, why this Red John psycho had him so on edge. He lived in America, for fucks' sake. Thousands of miles away, literally. And even though the U.S. police knew that something had happened in England, it didn't mean Red John would. Surely they had protocol and confidentiality and crap like that?

"Look, you can do whatever the fuck you want, but I'm outta here," Rich eventually said, whilst hauling the bag onto his back.

"What about Grace?"

"What about her?"

"Are you just going to, you know," Alo said, pausing for breath. "Leave her?"

"I'm doing this to _save_ her. To save both of us."

**TBC…**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Is anyone even reading this? Not that it'll make any difference to me posting it, as it's completed, but it'd be nice to know...

**Part Nine**

_Unspecified Location, CA, USA, Wednesday, 11.37pm PST_

It wasn't the same place as before. Red John never liked to meet up in the same location too many times; having a pattern, a routine would make him traceable and therefore, vulnerable. He knew that in order to maintain his air of mystery, he had to remain as unpredictable as feasibly possible. Besides, if he didn't, the cops, or indeed, Patrick Jane, could eventually work it out and that would be the end of everything. That was, apart from O'Laughlin himself. Then again, O'Laughlin remained in an enlightened position and that was something that wasn't going to change any time soon. Red John needed him as much as O'Laughlin needed the serial killer. Though it wasn't obvious, there was something reassuring about having Red John's guiding hand in his life. He had turned to him at every major juncture in his life, like he was some kind of guardian angel, or conscience.

O'Laughlin laughed hollowly. Some people would find it bitter and twisted that a serial killer could play such a role in somebody's life. But they didn't understand, they just heard the rumours, the media outcry. Saw what the police wanted them to see. They forgot that murderers were still human beings. That they were somebody's husband or wife, son or daughter, sister or brother. A friend, relative, confidant. That killing was usually just something that had become a part of their life, somehow. They didn't always mean to do it or set out from the offset, it just happened. Maybe through some kind of misfortune or childhood tragedy, other times triggered by falling into the wrong crowd. People murdered because they were trying to defend themselves, right an injustice, seek revenge. It wasn't random and brutal; there was a pattern behind it. The key was to see it. But instead, the general public forgot about the stories behind the murderer and instead focussed on the fanciful tales force-fed down their throats. Just because they were responsible for somebody's death, it didn't mean that people had to let it define them.

His fingers stroked the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. He'd been trying to quit 'for Van Pelt,' or that was what he said to her, anyway. Really, that was just a mask, a way to make the delusional young woman trust him. And thus far, it had been working. It made him appear more interested in the relationship than he ever was. Helped him get into character, almost. Right now, he really needed a cigarette. Something to calm the nerves, to stimulate the senses. Nicotine was a powerful mistress and sometimes, he just needed to succumb. Maybe, if things weren't quite so stressful, he'd have more of a desire to quit for good. He'd promised his old mum that he would, anyway. But with work stacking up and Red John's requirements vying for his attention, he needed a little respite in his vice. It didn't help with Van Pelt constantly clamouring for his attention, either.

When his cell phone buzzed shrilly, he jumped and dropped the cigarette that he had selected. When he saw the text message was indeed from Van Pelt, unsurprisingly, he scowled and put the device away again. He could reply later, after he had updated Red John on today's meetings. When he looked up, Red John was standing there. As always, he was fashionably late, but O'Laughlin had learned not to expect anything less from his mentor and friend. Though, of course, he still remained a mystery wrapped in a riddle wrapped in an enigma, to some extent.

Quickly, he updated Red John on his dealings with the CBI. Teresa Lisbon was generally a pleasant woman, if a little stubborn and abrasive. She clearly didn't like having somebody else interfering with what she saw as _her_ case, however. Jane was an ass, but that was common knowledge, even at the FBI. His frustrations with them were swiftly deleted from his recap; Red John simply didn't care about them. O'Laughlin knew he had spent years monitoring that specific team and Red John probably knew and understood them better than _he_ did after months of dealing with them face to face. Instead, he stuck to their only real progress: the attempt to organise a webcam interview with Olivia Malone's friends. If they could get lucky, then he might end up with something of use for Red John to deal with. And of course, the CBI could have the Red John case back and it would simplify his working dilemma once more.

"You've done well, Craig," Red John muttered as he went to leave. "I… appreciate the effort you are putting in."

"Thank you," Craig answered quickly, before adding, "but what are your plans?"

"I know what I'm doing and it's safer that you don't know," the serial killer assured him. Let me know about the victim's friends as soon as you can."

_Bristol, UK, Thursday, 06.45am GMT_

A car blazed past him, running over the SIM card he had accurately placed in the middle of the road. Rich didn't want contacting by anyone. Not Grace, not his parents, not Alo. He needed to slip away and disappear, as if he had never existed. Of course they would miss him. His mates would see it as an additional loss, additional heartache, so soon after losing Liv. But they'd got over it. They were young, robust. They had to. Besides, he was going to have to rebuild his life from scratch too. That was going to be interesting, to say the least.

He hadn't overreacted, of course he hadn't. He was just taking a sensible precautionary method. If he didn't, well, who knew what could happen? If there was one thing he understood about Red John, it was the serial killer's thirst for revenge. Patrick fucking Jane had only badmouthed him on television and that had cost him the life of his wife and daughter. Mr. Jane wasn't even the worst of it. Some cops at the CBI had just happened to be dealing with the case only to be killed by Red John and his crazed underlings. There was even proof that Red John had killed some kids for doing what he'd just done: copying him.

Rich cursed and punched the seat beside him. Why the fuck did he have to immediately think of Red John when Alo had called him, crying desperately for help? Why the hell hadn't he told his best mate to grow a pair and go to the fucking police? To tell the _truth_. Instead, he had gotten himself caught up in a web of lies and deceit which could only end in heartbreak, one way or another. And now, he was running away from home, like a scared little boy. All he had was the money in his pocket and the bag on his back. No plans, no future, no hope. He just hoped that Alo would fucking appreciate this.

Then again, Alo had to get out of this unscathed, too. Just because he was attempting to make himself untraceable, it didn't mean that Alo was too. Alo didn't even seem to understand just how potentially real the threat actually was. All he could do was focus on the five thousand miles between Bristol and Sacramento. But in this day and age, distance didn't mean a fucking thing. For all they knew, Red John could have some acolytes in England, somebody to do the groundwork and research before the serial killer flew over.

And that very thought terrified him.

It took several attempts before the spliff would even light. Rich let out a shaky sigh of relief as it came into contact with his lips and he inhaled the smoke. Eventually, it would calm him down, let him see things on a more level note. Picking up his bag again, he left the bus stop. Buses cost far too much, well for long journeys, anyway; he'd find some other way to leave Bristol. The train would probably suit him better.

Coincidentally, five minutes after he left the bus stop, Franky and Matty arrived and sat down silently beside one another.

As Rich had done shortly before her, Franky pulled a spliff out of her pocket as Matty offered her a light. Silently she accepted it and it wasn't long until it was ignited and placed between her lips. Slowly and steadily, she breathed in and wordlessly handed it over to him. Unbeknownst to Liv, she and Matty had spent a lot of time alone together since Grace and Rich attempted to marry. Even now, Franky refused to feel guilty. She _liked _spending time with Matty, trying to crawl under his skin the way he crawled under hers. Mini was fun and provided respite from the world when everything got too much, but Matty? He challenged her in ways that she didn't think possible.

And right now, he needed her for very different reasons.

When Matty wasn't comforting his brother or at least, making sure that Nick wasn't making too much of a mess of the place, she spent time with him. After all, he and Liv had still been technically going out. Sort of, anyway. They seemed to have a strange open relationship where they were free to fuck whoever they chose, but could always return to one another's arms when needs be. And although Liv had found it unsettling at first, she had slowly accepted Franky's intrigue into their relationship, almost joining in with the games.

It didn't matter that it was so early; neither one of them could sleep. All that mattered was that they found a way to seek respite from the proverbial storm. Losing Liv was a shock to the system, naturally. But it wasn't something that they couldn't endure. Death was a natural part of life, as was mourning somebody. It was all a part of the bigger picture, but humans were always incapable of seeing that. This was just a shock to the system as nobody could expect death at such a young age, whether it was self-inflicted or indeed, murder as it was in this case. It was simply a matter of picking up the pieces now and moving on. And hoping the fucking police can get their act together and catch the killer. If not, Franky knew she would have to do something more than searching on fucking computers for a serial killer who probably wasn't even responsible.

Franky ground the cigarette butt into the floor. She glanced at Matty who nodded indistinctly to the left. It was time for them to move on. After all, the sun was rising and it was the start of a new day.

Neither one of them noticed Rich's destroyed SIM card in the middle of the road.

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Thursday, 07.37am PST_

Van Pelt yawned and clutched hold of her coffee as if her life depended on it. She had been at the headquarters since six am and still hadn't woken up properly. Then again, they usually worked cases as a unit, a team and because of the latest developments, they had been temporarily fractured into two. It wasn't unusual for Van Pelt to not see much of the rest of the team on a case; despite having worked for the CBI for a reasonable amount of time, she was still the youngest. Therefore, she was seen as a bit of a computer whiz and often left behind to do the digging whilst everyone else did the legwork. Admittedly, the situation wasn't as bad as it was when she had first started, but she still didn't do as much fieldwork as she liked. At least this case was providing her with that, even if she was beginning to miss Jane and Lisbon a little in the process. There was something disconcerting about not having them hovering over the team's every footstep.

She smiled briefly when she saw Rigsby had arrived while she had nipped out for her drink. He was already working, probably writing up the progress report from yesterday, about the interview with Schaber. It intrigued her that the man had cheated with the deceased's wife. Van Pelt had been brought up with a strict moral code and therefore believed that marriage was for life, something that meant more than just a piece of paper. You were agreeing to spend the rest of your life with just that one person. Once upon a time, she had thought that person might have been Rigsby for her, but of course, Hightower had found out. Really, it was an inevitability that she should have seen from the start. But for some reason, she had believed that one day, they would be wed and by then, one of them would be ready to move on from the CBI. Thank goodness she had O'Laughlin in her life now; it made her feel less lonely, more wanted. And he was a dear soul that she was genuinely beginning to fall in love with him. Not in the same passionate, rollercoaster ride as she had with Rigsby, but something slower and steadier**.**

But her love life wasn't why she was in work early. It was because Cho wanted to try and close this case quickly. Possibly to impress Hightower, to convince her that he could make an excellent senior agent soon. Van Pelt thought that it was more likely that he simply wanted to keep Lisbon's stress levels at a minimum. She and Cho had worked together for a long while, Van Pelt knew that. And despite the ludicrous professional boundaries their boss had set up, Lisbon and Cho shared a strange sort of closeness that even she was aware of.

"Hey," Rigsby said as he saw her take to her desk.

"Hey," she echoed, smiling slightly. "How's it going?"

"This? Fine, nearly done. Want to have it on Lisbon's desk before she arrives this morning."

"For the Hayes case?"

"Yeah."

She nodded as she booted up her laptop. It felt like she and Rigsby were never going to strike up that easy friendship they used to share before they started dating. Sometimes, she believed it was something they'd never get back. Van Pelt knew that she wouldn't be able to share easy conversations about their lives any more and she certainly couldn't discuss her worries about O'Laughlin with him. He had barely moved on and there she was, worrying because her new boyfriend hadn't stopped over last night as he said he would. If she were to mention it, it would look ridiculously insensitive. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Rigsby's feelings even more than she already had.

Instead, she picked up Cho's memo from the night before while periodically sipping her coffee. She had already read it earlier, but needed a reminder of what to focus on next. Once again, she read through his brief description of the wife, mentally noting things to question. The case seemed simple enough and it was definitely one Jane would probably classify as 'boring'. In a way, she was grateful that he _did_ have another distraction; knowing him, he would have overcomplicated things for the sake of it and continued offending people like Schaber. Having seen the play a couple of months ago, when visiting her family, she had automatically developed a great deal of respect for the individuals involved. And having been amazed by Harrison Hayes' performance in particular, it made her all the more determined to help solve this case.

But that would come later. There was always paperwork to do. Besides, she already knew her task for the day. And yes, it was looking into Hayes' credentials, trying to see if money troubles could be a link. That was _always_ good fun.

**TBC…**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Thank you so much to lysemma for reviewing part nine. It's much appreciated. I'm glad there is at least a little interest in this fic.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Ten<strong>

_Bristol, UK, Thursday, 07.32pm GMT_

She stared at her mobile phone as if it was taunting her.

Grace had called Rich at least a dozen times and had attempted to leave several messages, only for the automated voice to tell her the number wasn't available. She'd already lost count of the number of times she'd tried to text him too. It was times like this when she was pleased that her father insisted she had a paid contract. His argument was that she had to always have the capability to call home, if needs be. It did nothing for her attempts at independence, but it was a security blanket of sorts. However, she wasn't sure that they'd be quite so appreciative of the bill she was running up. Especially so as it was simply her trying to call Rich.

Despite the fact that her parents had, after months of arguments and faux-threats, agreed to allow her to stay at Roundview, they still hadn't accepted her relationship with Richard Hardbeck. She wasn't quite sure what to do next; it felt like she had tried every trick in the book to try and make them see sense. Really, they just needed to give him a proper chance, like she did. Grace knew all too well that looks could be deceiving. If they could just see under that brash exterior, they would realise that he was genuinely a sweet and caring man. Somebody who was suited to their only daughter, even if they believed otherwise. After all, there was a reason she had accepted his marriage proposal. And gone behind her parents' backs in order to arrange the not-wedding.

Grace glanced at her left hand and her eyes lingered on her ring finger. She still took to wearing the engagement ring he'd presented her with. As far as she was concerned, they were still engaged. It was just a case of them postponing the wedding until a more appropriate time, instead of blindly rushing into it to defy her parents.

Why would he ignore her like this? She had always believed that their relationship was rock solid. The worst they'd had to deal with was getting over his preconceived views of what he expected in a girlfriend and then, of course, her parents. Apart from that, they'd be fine, almost perfect even. He'd been a little quiet over the past couple of days, since Liv had died, but she had expected that. They were all a little shell-shocked and withdrawn. Everyone was having to deal with it in their own, different, ways. Eventually, the group would reconvene and they'd be able to work through it together. It was simply a case of getting over the initial shock.

Her mobile buzzed brightly and she immediately grasped at it. It had to be him, who else would it be? He was probably just texting her to say that he'd been sick all day and had stayed home. That was why he hadn't gone to college today, that was why he hadn't been able to answer her messages. Briefly, Grace felt a pang of guilt for disturbing him. She should have known.

That was, until she opened the message. It was from Mini, and as usual, was a barely intelligible babble of text speak. Once translated into English, she threw the phone back down in a huff. She'd already told Mini she wanted to spend some time alone, to think things through. That she didn't really have the will or energy to go out again.

Grace didn't want to drown her sorrows. All she really wanted was to know that Rich was okay.

Seconds later, the landline rang out and Grace remained laid on her bed. Their last year of college wasn't meant to be like this. They were meant to be having fun together, celebrating being young before drifting off to university. Instead, they were all grieving, snapping each other's heads off and pushing one another away. College had been a nightmare today; Nick and Franky had ended up at one another's throats for some unknown reason. Alo and Matty had argued over something completely pointless. Then of course, there was herself constantly bothering Mini about her concerns for Rich.

Grace quickly forgot her train of thoughts when her mum knocked on her door. Swiftly, she jerked herself into a seated position and called for her to come in.

"It's the police, darling," her mum muttered. "They want to talk to you about poor Olivia again."

Cradling the phone in one hand, she quickly spoke to the officer. All they wanted to do was ask some follow-up questions, at five pm tomorrow afternoon, at Clifton Branch Police Station. It seemed a little strange that they had set a precise time and date, rather than just ask them, but Grace didn't question it. And naturally, she agreed immediately before ending the call. She desperately wanted to do everything she could to help, but couldn't help but wonder why they wanted another interview with her. The police had already questioned them, the whole gang. She had said everything that she knew the first time around. What more was there to say?

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Thursday, 11.32am PST_

It was another day and yet more time stuck in the office, going over the same ground with Jane and O'Laughlin. They had spent several hours looking over case files that she was all too familiar with. Like Jane, Lisbon practically knew the Red John case back to front and inside out. Going over each meticulous detail, along with O'Laughlin, was a waste of her time and energy. It was what the FBI agent had wanted; he had claimed to be desperate for their insight and expertise and therefore, they were obliged to comply. However, there were moments when the man seemed bored and kept switching off. Here she was, wasting time which could be used on other open cases and he wasn't even bothering to show his appreciation.

She couldn't see anything new in the photographs of the crime scene either, nor in the additional information sheets provided by the Avon and Somerset Constabulary. The known Red John cases showed things reminiscent of the Malone murder, but given how recent it was, it was obviously carried out by an amateur hand. Somebody with a fleeting knowledge of Red John and how he operated. It simply didn't have the serial killer's finesse or attention to detail. For a start, Red John had never shot a victim and then proceeded to butcher the body. Therefore, they all knew the crime scene had been faked, but how the hell could they prove that from five thousand miles away? They weren't miracle workers. They didn't have access to any suspects, people of interest and the like. How could they be expected to deliver what Bertram had asked of them? It was virtually impossible. Lisbon knew they were good, but damn it, they weren't _that _good. She let out a heavy sigh as she leafed through the forensics report again; really, she was just waiting for O'Laughlin to come back and using it as an excuse to ignore Jane. The FBI agent had been disturbed, by a cell phone call and had disappeared to talk to somebody. Presumably, his boss. Or so she hoped, because then they might finally get the break they were looking for.

"Good news," O'Laughlin announced, smiling wryly. "We can talk to the mother of the victim imminently. The friends, tomorrow morning at nine am."

"Finally," Lisbon muttered under her breath, pleased that her desperate prayer had been answered. "What took them so long? No don't bother answering. Politics."

O'Laughlin nodded in response before sitting back down opposite her and he started typing furiously at _her_ computer. Jane simply observed, sipping his tea periodically. It was interesting, seeing Lisbon react to this situation. She was unhappy about losing the Red John case again. Not as much as he was, but still. Then again, if she had managed to keep hold of it, managed to close it, it would have meant great things for her career. Lisbon had spent a lot of time and energy on the damn thing and had expected some kind of payoff for her dedication. Then there was the Bosco debacle; she was still desperate to seek some kind of closure for someone so important in her life. However, apprehending Red John wasn't what Bosco wanted. Jane still hadn't told her, nor did he have any intention of doing so, but Bosco had asked Jane to butcher the serial killer open, just like he deserved. Death row was too good for somebody like Red John. But Lisbon did deserve some kind of break with Red John too; she _had_ spent years on it. And because some foolish idiot in a foreign country had decided to copy Red John, her career-making case had been whisked out from under her feet for a second time.

Jane knew that both he and O'Laughlin were annoying her too. She had asked him, several times, to go and help Cho with the Hayes case, but it simply didn't interest him anymore. Why would he want to work on something else with the Red John case at risk? Besides, Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were all competent agents and had the capabilities to close the case without his assistance. Really, Lisbon should have been proud of them; they were a credit to her. Besides, like Lisbon, he had caught up on O'Laughlin's despondency, which was something far more fascinating than the murder of an actor. There was something irksome about that and he wanted desperately to investigate. However, at the same time, he knew his priority was to get the Red John case back into their hands. If it disappeared to the FBI, then his chances of slaughtering Red John diminished considerably. So, instead, much to Lisbon's chagrin, he'd spent the morning with O'Laughlin, winding up the FBI agent and thus, Lisbon in the process.

An incoming call via the webcam set up on Lisbon's computer startled him from his reverie. O'Laughlin took the lead and Jane quickly noted Lisbon's contemptuous scowl. She really wasn't impressed by O'Laughlin's presence. An English voice filled the room as the police officer in Bristol introduced the victim's mother and younger sibling. As far as Jane was concerned, this meant it was show time.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Malone," O'Laughlin stated smoothly, smiling at the webcam. "May I introduce Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon, of the California Bureau of Investigation and Patrick Jane? They are kindly assisting the FBI with their inquiries…"

_London, UK, Thursday, 07.43pm GMT_

Rich had chosen London for a reason. It was a huge city, with a population size to match. And on top of the people resident to the UK's capital, there was the additional commuters and tourists and the like. In short, it was the perfect place to head towards if you simply wanted to disappear into the crowd.

It hadn't taken him long to find a place to stay. The youth hostel was on the shabby side, but it was all he could manage on his budget. His savings weren't going to last long; what he really needed to do was organise employment as soon as possible. Preferably something which paid cash in hand, that'd make him less traceable. Before leaving Bristol, he'd emptied out his bank account, so he had a total of just under two grand in his pocket. That was mostly from his part time jobs; he'd never had problems with saving and yet, still having enough money to treat himself. Mostly to records, but stuff for Grace of late, too.

A pang of guilt washed over him. He wished he could have told her that he was disappearing on her. Made it easier for her to deal with. Then again, if he had done, he would have had to tell her the whole sordid affair. She would have been horrified, disgusted that he had not only lied to her, but the police too. Grace wouldn't have understood how he could have sullied Liv's body in order to try to get Alo off the hook. Wouldn't have been able to comprehend that Alo deserved to live his life properly, rather than being punished for such a fucking stupid mistake.

And she probably wouldn't have got his concerns over Red John either.

Then again, none of his mates would have. Mainly because, unlike him, they hadn't spent years researching the fucking psycho killer. All they had done was spend an hour on the computer in the library; that wasn't even enough time to scratch the surface. They didn't know that Red John's killing spree had started in 1998. Nor did they know just how many victims, mostly female, he'd murdered. Or that he had crossed state lines in order to kill. Time and distance meant nothing to him. That was enough for Rich to realise what a fucking stupid move it was, to copy Red John. The man obviously had money if he'd been able to hound Patrick Jane, the CBI's famous consultant, for years. He therefore could quite easily fly to England, find him, find Alo and exact his revenge. It had been proven that Red John hated copycats. The most recent Red John emergence had proved as much.

If they knew all that, then maybe, they would be able to sympathise. But as Alo, who was also caught up in this mess, there was no hope for the rest of them.

Least of all Grace. She was such a gentle soul, she just didn't get violence, anger and revenge. Her life had been surrounded by fairy stories and princesses and happily ever afters. Serial killers didn't have any place in her life. Therefore, it was for the best. It protected her from things she didn't deserve to be exposed to.

Or, rather, he hoped it did.

Rich looked at the face of his watch before placing it on the side table. He'd left Bristol just over twelve hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago. That was hardly surprising though; so much had already changed. This morning, he didn't even know where he was going, he just knew he had to get the hell out of Bristol. He had to put some time and distance between himself and the place.

The further from Bristol and the closer to London he'd got, the safer he'd felt. And now, he hoped that the feeling of security would increase as time passed on by. With a sigh, he climbed into the bed. Tomorrow, he'd think up what to do with the rest of his life. Right now, the changes were all too sudden, too raw. They almost felt impulsive, in a way. In reality, he thought it was for the best. However, that wasn't enough to stop doubt from beginning to creep in for the first time.

Eventually, he switched off the bedside lamp and curled up under the thin duvet. The only sound that filled the room was the ticking of his watch.

**TBC…**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Sorry for not uploading a chapter for a couple of days. Then again, I doubt anyone will be that bothered by this being up slower than usual. Oh well...

**Part Eleven**

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Thursday, 05.47pm PST_

Jane sat opposite Cho and smiled briefly. Cho glanced up, but barely responded. That wasn't surprising; Cho was one of the few people who Jane knew who was actually capable of keeping his emotions hidden, for the most part. The man didn't speak and instead, continued leafing through a manila folder. He nodded when Cho stopped at a photograph of the crime scene. It was a knife crime; they often had psychological connotations. The killer probably felt rather insecure, weak, in comparison to Harrison Hayes. Besides, knives were generally easier to get hold of than guns. The perpetrator could have walked into any mall to get his weapon, then dispose of it easily. Then again, they had only thrown it in the dumpster outside the motel, which wasn't exactly the best example of forward planning.

"How's the case going?"

"Fine."

"Good, good. Have you looked into the whereabouts of the elusive stage manager yet?"

"No, why?"

"No reason. Just interested."

"I thought you were more interested in dealing with the Red John case?"

Jane nodded and placed a thoughtful finger on his lips. Cho was right; he was far more interested in Red John. That being said, the investigation had stalled. The interview with Agnes Malone had revealed nothing, just as he had expected. However, that wasn't stopping O'Laughlin and Lisbon from dissecting it word by word for any clues as to what happened to Olivia Malone. That was the kind of thing which bored him senseless, so he had quickly excused himself. Besides, it seemed like it could be fun to find out where Cho had got to with the Hayes case. Just to make sure that everything was progressing smoothly and they really didn't need his help. Though his methods were generally quicker, that didn't mean Jane necessarily disregarded their style of investigation. It was just slow and made him impatient.

"Agent Cho?"

"Brenda."

Jane noticed the flicker of a smile that crossed Cho's face as Brenda Shettrick took a seat opposite him. Knowing exactly what was about to occur, he made himself scarce. Jane had already observed a sparring match between Lisbon and the CBI's PR agent and wasn't really in the mood for a repeat performance with Cho.

"I hear you're in charge of the Hayes murder?"

"I am," Cho answered.

"That's good. I need a statement…"

"No," he interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"I said no."

Cho knew it had been a rhetorical question, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with any potential confusion. To be fair, he never was. He watched, seemingly unperturbed, as the frustration obviously grew on her face. That wasn't his intention, but it was hardly surprising. Her job was pretty thankless. Most of the agents, especially those in senior positions, were reluctant to work with the media. Hiring Brenda had been one of Hightower's initiatives. Apparently, it was something to do with making the CBI seem more accessible to the general public and meaning they could get their side of the story out before the lies multiplied. However, most of the employees, including him, were stuck in their old ways. They didn't want to risk putting out a statement without having all the facts. There was nothing worse for public perception than admitting that they were wrong after making false announcements to the media.

"Kimball, it's been a stressful day," Brenda murmured, her voice like honey. "Lisbon isn't saying a word about Red John, the _least _you can do is give me a statement about Harrison Hayes."

"There isn't anything to say."

"He is, was, a surprisingly famous actor," Brenda shot back quickly. "People want to know that his murder is being investigated by the best."

He felt the sting. The implication that he, Rigsby and Van Pelt weren't up to the task. That they needed Lisbon and especially Jane in order to close cases. Of course, working on a skeleton crew wasn't preferable, but that didn't mean they couldn't get the job done. Besides, the more of his precious time she ate up, the longer it would be until they found the murderer. And, the more likely that said murderer would have a chance to slip through their fingers and escape.

After a sharp intake of breath, he gave her a brief statement. He didn't say much and if anything, it was a slight spin on the statement that Hightower had supplied when Jane had been kidnapped. All he said was that they had their best people working on the case, that they were chasing down several leads and that they were sure they would arrest the person or persons responsible soon. Normally, he would have battled her down until he got his own way, much like Lisbon probably had five minutes earlier. But he just wanted her out of his hair, so he could do his job properly.

As she left, satisfied, he felt relieved. Quickly, he beckoned over Rigsby and Van Pelt. There wasn't much more they could do at that moment in time, but there had to be a reason why Jane highlighted the stage manager, Antony Cera, as a person of interest. Cho cast his eyes over the notes. Van Pelt had been the one to interview him in Merced, but he hadn't said much. Simply that at the time of the murder, he had been sleeping in his room, having lost track of time. That he had no alibis. Still, they had nothing and it was looking likely that the Schaber route was going to be a dead end.

And Cho knew that the sooner he closed the case, the sooner they could help Jane and Lisbon deal with Red John.

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Friday, 09.12am PST; Bristol, UK, Friday, 05.12pm GMT_

O'Laughlin had wanted to interview the kids together, as a group. He had claimed that it would be more efficient, that they would be wasting less time. While that would have provided them with an interesting dynamic of their friendships, Lisbon had immediately disagreed. She knew that Jane would benefit more from interviewing them individually, from working out their reactions to each question alone. It was immediately obvious that Jane was the most important tool they had right now; only he had half a chance of working out what was going on. Besides, they were less likely to conceal information when they were not surrounded by friends. They would also be less inclined to protect each other's dignity for one reason or another. That and it was hard enough trying to talk to a rowdy group of teenagers face to face, never mind over a webcam.

The first to appear was a young woman, Grace Violet Blood. She had been polite, articulate and keen to help. Lisbon had been relieved that the young woman had been so personable, so determined to help get them to the crux of the matter. Unfortunately, she also didn't provide them with anything of use. Jane had been certain that she had nothing to do with her friend's murder and understood what they were trying to achieve. She was also doing a fairly good job of masking her emotions regarding the situation, but Lisbon had a feeling that Grace simply wasn't one to break down in public.

"What are you worried about, Grace?" Jane asked.

"Me? Nothing," Grace answered, albeit too quickly. "Well, I want you to find out who did this to Liv, but apart from that…"

"No, there's something else. Who are you engaged to?"

"I don't know what that has to do…"

"Answer the question, please, Grace," Lisbon interjected politely. "There's a method to his madness, I promise."

"Rich. Rich Hardbeck. He's…"

"Was he friends with Olivia too?" Lisbon asked before Jane had a chance to.

"Yes, well, no. Well… sort of," Grace answered in response. "They hung out together. I mean, with all of us. They weren't particularly close or anything."

"Interesting."

She cocked her head slightly as Jane responded to her stammering statement. Grace couldn't quite see what was exactly interesting about the fact that Liv and Rich were friends through social connections. A lot of people were. Did they think that, maybe, he had something to do with it? That was utterly ludicrous. Then again, he still wasn't answering his mobile and she was getting worried. What if he had taken off because he had killed Liv? But why would he have been meeting up with her on Tuesday night anyway? She had never been given reason to suspect that Rich would cheat on her, least of all with one of her best friends. Then again, Liv had slept with Nick when he was going out with Mini, so it was a part of her modus operandi at the very least.

"What are you thinking _right_ now?"

"I haven't heard from Rich all day," Grace answered, stunned that she had given up the information so willingly.

"And you're thinking he might have something to do with it?"

"What? No!" she shot back, her voice raising slightly. "He's probably just sick, that's all."

Grace was quickly replaced by Mini McGuinness and Nicholas Levan. Both were as useless as one another. The McGuinness girl had been constantly on the edge of breakdown and wasn't dealing with the situation that well. At the time, Jane had muttered down her ear that she had probably had a childish bust-up with the deceased and therefore, was beating herself up about her death. Nick Levan just seemed simply lost and had nothing constructive to say whatsoever. Lisbon had actively decided to cut his interview short; she could see it was going nowhere and Jane was just winding him up. The poor kid even looked like a walking target for Jane's mind games. It was obvious, even to her, that he had been suffering from some sort of emotional crisis of late. The last thing she wanted was their British contact complaining because Jane had wound them up too much.

Aloysius Creevey was next in front of the camera. Jane was quick to undo his false bravado and almost instantaneously, he became a quivering wreck. Lisbon glanced at O'Laughlin, watching him scribble down the same notes as she was intending to. Creevey was clearly either involved, more so than any of their previous interviewees or was reacting badly to the stress. For his sake, she hoped it was the latter. Then again, like Nick Levan, she couldn't imagine him being particularly close to the victim. In fact, she would be more than willing to bet that he just knew her because they had some mutual friends.

"Where were you between the hours of one am and three a.m. Tuesday morning?" Jane enquired and Alo's jaw dropped. "Your time, of course. Not ours, that would be ridiculous."

Even Lisbon was stunned by the question. Despite the fact she had a shrinking suspicion that he may be involved, that didn't mean she was ready to enquire as to his whereabouts during the time frame of the murder. They, and the local law enforcement officers, simply didn't have enough evidence to throw around such accusations. Then again, Jane didn't exactly follow protocol, so she had long since learned not to be stunned when he did such a thing.

"You think… you think I'd fucking do this? She was my mate!"

"Well?"

"I was with Rich. Rich Hardbeck," Alo said, quickly. It was true, in a way, just not the entirety of it. "We'd been out, drinking."

"Hang on," Lisbon interrupted. "Isn't the legal age for drinking in England eighteen?"

"Yes, why?"

"You're only seventeen," O'Laughlin answered for her, stating the obvious.

"So?"

"It's against the law. We'll have to report this," Lisbon responded shortly, ignoring Jane rolling his eyes in disgust. "Will Richard confirm your alibi?"

"Yeah, course he will."

"Fine. You may go."

Alo disappeared as fast as his feet could carry him and Jane smirked at Lisbon. He could tell she was getting a little bit irritated by the whole scenario, but excluding flights to the UK which the CBI simply couldn't cover, this was the next best alternative. Besides, he was finding it enjoyable, in a way. The kids were certainly characters to say the least.

"Yeah 'of course he will'," Jane echoed Alo, with a grin. "That's what friends do. Provide each other with alibis, false or otherwise."

"Shut up, Jane."

Francesca had been as articulate as Grace had been, albeit more cynical and jaded. Lisbon had had to interrupt Jane several times as he pushed the poor girl into uncomfortable situations, ones she clearly didn't want to address. However, her anger subsided when he informed her that she, like Mini, had a complex relationship with Olivia Malone. Unlike the previous kid, Alo, she had been confident with her every answer and was more intrigued into what they were doing than what her role was. Lisbon didn't blame her; she was pretty similar in that respect when she was younger. Despite her obvious interest, she didn't seem particularly suspicious and unusually, it was O'Laughlin who bid her farewell. Then again, time was marching on and they wanted to get this over with sooner rather than later.

Matthew Levan was the last to be interviewed. It didn't take any of them long to identify his clear problems with authority. He slouched in the chair as if he ruled the world and looked down the camera with obvious contempt. Lisbon was briefly glad that there was an ocean between them; she wouldn't like to have to pull him for questioning time and time again, undoubtedly. Matthew looked the type to have a long rap sheet, even at his tender age, at least. Jane, however, was merely amused and relished in delight at the concept of questioning yet another troubled young soul.

"What is your relationship with Olivia Malone?" Lisbon inquired as politely as she could.

"What the fuck is it to you?" Matty snapped.

"He was sleeping with her," Jane stated nonchalantly, smiling as he did so. "They weren't in the relationship, not really, but it was getting rather close to one."

"What the fuck? How the hell did you do that, you tw-"

"Enough of the language," Lisbon stated sharply and Matty simply glowered at her through the computer screen.

"What about Francesca Fitzgerald?" Jane asked and the teenager shrugged in response. "Oh, like that was it?"

Lisbon mouthed at him, clearly not on the same wavelength, but let him continue anyway. She would make him explain to her what his relationship with the Fitzgerald girl was later. It was slightly unprofessional, letting Jane wind Matthew up, but at least her consultant was letting off steam. Besides, O'Laughlin didn't seem to care what Jane said. He seemed more than happy to take a backseat with the teenagers. Probably because he knew they were all going to be more difficult than the kid's mother they'd spoken to the evening before. Eventually, Jane finished needling Matthew Levan and she dismissed him, not entirely blaming him for being relieved to leave. Seconds later, their contact informed them that was all of the kids and the connection was broken.

She looked at her notes. According to Avon and Somerset Constabulary, they hadn't been able to contact Richard Hardbeck, Grace's fiancé. Silently, she wished that the young woman had been last to be interviewed, rather than first. Then, they would have been able to ask her why he hadn't turned up instead of the dismissive shrug they'd received when O'Laughlin asked Matthew Levan. Briefly, she glanced at Jane and then, O'Laughlin. Their expressions suggested that they were thinking the same thing. Richard was somehow connected to the case. Why would an innocent young man avoid answering some relatively routine questions, albeit under a bizarre circumstance? Most kids his age would probably have found the whole thing fascinating; teenagers especially were often drawn to the macabre due to it being a taboo subject.

It was dubious, at best, but it was still something. All they could do now was urge their police contacts in the UK to try and track down the Hardbeck kid as soon as feasibly possible.

**TBC…**


	12. Chapter 12

**Part Twelve**

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Friday, 12.47pm PST_

"Where are you going?" Van Pelt asked Jane, indignantly.

"Ah, don't worry Grace," Jane answered with a smile. "I'm just doing the coffee run. To rally the troops, so to speak. Lisbon and Craig are still in her office. With Cho, I believe."

"Oh… good."

"And I'm not entirely sure, but is that Mrs. Hayes approaching from the elevator?"

Van Pelt scowled as Jane disappeared off. If he was off for coffee, he had better bring her one too. Yesterday, she hadn't been able to budge from her computer all day. Even lunch had been huddled in front of her laptop, as she tried to untangle Harrison Hayes' financial situation. He'd made several large donations to charities of late. Something, which according to Jane, would be a red flag, as such. Clearly, a sign of guilt or the like. She sighed. So what? Who, exactly, had a clean conscience these days? Everybody harboured some secret or another. It was just a case that most people were capable of suppressing the guilt without having to make large donations to charity. If they didn't, well, charities wouldn't be so desperate for money, would they? And being hunched over her laptop while Rigsby went back to Merced seemed to be the theme for today, as well.

There was a cough from behind her, something which Van Pelt knew shouldn't have startled her. Jane had told her that someone was approaching. Tentatively, she turned around and immediately recognised Miranda Hayes from the photographs she'd seen that morning. Quickly, she greeted her with a warm smile before offering her a seat. This was the grieving widow; she must have been devastated by the loss of her husband. Van Pelt knew that if she were in the woman's shoes, she would be. But then again, she had also had a brief affair with Schaber, so maybe not.

"I need to speak to Agent Cho," Miranda stated, with a voice laced with authority. "I was informed that he is the agent in charge of my husband's murder?"

"I'll see if he's available, ma'am," she answered politely as she rose from her chair.

"I didn't say I'd like to speak to him, I said I need to," she snapped in response and took a seat on Jane's couch.

"He's in the middle of a meeting with our boss, I'm afraid," Van Pelt answered quickly, trying her best to remain composed. "I'll see what I can do."

Van Pelt knocked apprehensively on the closed door to Lisbon's office. She never liked interrupting meetings; usually, they were happening for a reason, though Jane would always beg to differ. When Lisbon called a swift 'come in', Van Pelt breathed a sigh of relief. That didn't mean she wouldn't be in the way, but at least her boss had sounded somewhat welcoming. As she nudged the door open, she silently cursed at uncooperative persons of interest. She'd been with the CBI for more than long enough to be trusted to carry out interviews. Miranda Hayes wasn't even a suspect; she had a cast iron alibi. However, the woman had refused to budge and that meant dragging Cho out of a meeting with Lisbon.

Thankfully, they had apparently finished. Van Pelt watched as Lisbon drifted off in the direction of Hightower's office, no doubt to discuss something pertaining to the Red John case. That left her to take Cho to Mrs. Hayes before she could have a break for lunch. At least the woman had been somewhat polite when she had acquiesced to her demands; that was better than nothing. However, that didn't stop her from making a swift getaway and catching up with O'Laughlin as soon as she had done so. Craig had been distancing himself from her over the past couple of days and she missed him.

"Thank you for meeting with me," Miranda Hayes said directly to Cho as they left Van Pelt behind. "Your young secretary was stubborn at first…"

"She isn't a secretary."

"She isn't?"

"No, she's a junior agent."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Cho immediately took note of the fact she didn't sound particularly sorry. Still, he opened the door to one of the interview rooms politely held the door open for her. As soon as she was seated, he observed the curious woman with interest. When he had met her in Reno, she had acted like the perfect grieving widow. And apparently, she had been staying with her mom for health reasons. Something important had to have happened for her to make the decision to travel all the way to Sacramento, alone.

"What do you want?"

"Well, I thought you must know that," Miranda started, before fishing out a tissue to dab at her eyes. "Oh it's so humiliating…"

"Go on…"

"Antony Cera and I, we were having an affair," she eventually said. "And I'm pregnant with his baby."

_Bristol, UK, Friday, 10.32pm GMT_

Matty was the last to be questioned. Whilst sitting in the police station, waiting, he had actively avoided going in there. He had let all of the others filter in and out before him. He wasn't sure why, it was inevitably going to happen sooner or later. Maybe it was just the fact he felt uncomfortable about the concept of being questioned by police officers again, especially as this time, it was by American ones with clout. During the day, at college, they had all agreed to meet at the Fishpond Tavern afterwards, so he headed straight there as soon as he was done. The moment they had found out that the FBI (and by default, the CBI too) wanted to interview them all, they had all wanted to discuss it afterwards. To work out what the hell was going on and how the fuck Americans thought they'd be able to solve a murder without even setting foot on British soil. But of course, the interviews had to occur first, so they had something concrete to mull over.

Patrick Jane had annoyed Matty, in particular. There was something about the bastard's smarmy grin and seemingly all-knowing eyes that set him on edge. He hadn't even had to say a word for Mr. Jane to work out that he and Liv had been fucking. And when he had sworn at them in response, the lady cop had snapped about how inappropriate his language was. Bastards, the lot of them. Mr. Jane was probably fucking his female boss, whatever her name was, anyway, the fucking hypocrite. Matty had seen him staring at her for a little too long and vice versa, he wasn't an idiot. They were the kind of looks he'd shared with Franky and Liv, after all.

But that wasn't the point. He was angry about just how patronising Jane was. It wasn't as if he knew what it was like to lose somebody they were that close to so young. Nor his two colleagues, either. They only knew what it was like to be on the other side. Telling people that loved ones, friends, family, colleagues had died. How could they even comprehend what he was going through?

The others weren't talking as he walked inside. Nick had already bought him a beer and he briefly smiled gratefully at his younger brother. Their relationship was still fractured and Matty didn't know if it would ever be repaired, but at least they were sort of rubbing together nicely now. Or at least, they had learned to live with one another civilly. And in some kind of sick way, Liv's death had brought them a little closer together. They both had an affection for her, had both had sex with her even. It was a mutual understanding, something that people on the outside just didn't get. People like those fucking American cops.

"Well?"

"Fucking Yanks," Nick answered quickly, before burying his head in his drinks. "Who do they think they are?"

"Yeah, especially that bastard, Patrick Jane," Matty concurred, pleased his brother at least seemed to share his viewpoint.

"They're just trying to…" Grace started.

"Gracie…" Mini started nervously; the others were angry and the last thing they needed were more public spats.

"What? I thought they were all perfectly nice."

"Well, you would," Nick retorted before slamming his empty glass down. "Anyone for another?"

Nobody answered him and silently, he slinked off to the bar, still grumbling. Mini kept her eyes on him at all times. She understood why everyone was so frazzled; it had been bizarre, being interviewed via webcam. Matty especially, given his relationship with Liv. Still, as Gracie had been trying to say, the Americans were just trying to offer their expertise. They weren't trying to take over; Teresa Lisbon had said as much when they started to interview her. All they wanted was to make sure the right man was captured. Whether that was Red John or somebody else, it remained to be seen.

Besides, that was what Mini wanted too. She had never forgiven Liv for sleeping with her boyfriend, not really. That was something she was going to have to live with for the rest of her life. It was too late to say 'it's okay,' when somebody has died. Mini hadn't dealt with Liv's betrayal, but Liv would never find out when she actually did. And her sort-of friend had died thinking that Mini was still furious with her and would never come to terms with it. That they had been living under a masquerade at Rich and Grace's not-wedding. They had all seemed so happy, back then. For just one day, they'd all been able to set aside their differences in order to make sure that Rich and Grace had a fantastic day. It was barely months ago now. And now, everything was so different in the worst way possible.

That was a point. She hadn't seen Rich all day. Had he even been questioned by the police today?

Mini quickly buried her head in her wine glass. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure if she even wanted to know. If he had ran away because he was involved with Liv's murder, then it would be horrifying. He was one of them, one of the gang. And poor Gracie, she would have her heart broken. Mini knew just how deeply she felt about Rich; it would positively destroy her if he had done so. That was something she understood all too well. When Nick and Liv had started their sordid little affair, it wasn't just Nick that broke her heart, but Liv too.

Besides, it was ludicrous even thinking about Rich being a murderer. Just because he looked the part, what with his metal obsession and principles, it didn't mean he actually would do it. There was such a thing as subverting stereotypes, after all. Anyway, he was one of them and mates just didn't kill one another. Did they?

_Unspecified Location, CA, USA, Friday, 11.17pm PST_

"Thank you for organising the interview with the girl's friends," O'Laughlin stated lightly.

Lisbon had been asking desperately about just how he had managed to organise the interviews. It was a coup, even for the FBI, especially given the short notice they had been supplied with. Naturally, he had lead her to believe that the FBI director, in conjunction with Gale Bertram, had manage to pull a few strings for them. That he had just been incredibly lucky, thanks to their extensive contacts list that stretched across the whole world. It didn't entirely satisfy the senior agent, but it pacified her at least.

But of course, it had been Red John who had pulled the strings, made sure that things went his way. It wasn't difficult and he'd managed to cover up his trail quite spectacularly. Besides, he knew that the CBI wouldn't get anywhere without his influence and it amused him somewhat. They would be horrified to realise that Red John, of all people, had actually aided them in solving a crime.

Yet again, it had been O'Laughlin who had called Red John to offer information. The serial killer didn't mind; he was in no rush for information. He could quite patiently wait to be drip-fed whatever his precious mole had to say. Patience, after all, was a virtue. Something that Mr. Jane could most certainly learn about. The same applied to the somewhat striking Teresa Lisbon. Just because Jane was the centre of Red John's plans, it didn't mean he didn't take note of his work colleagues. After all, Van Pelt had already proven herself useful in his schemes. Sooner or later, one of the others might too. And it was a well-documented fact that Agent Lisbon was awfully close to Jane.

"I believe it benefited us as much as it did Agent Lisbon and Mr. Jane, Craig," Red John replied politely.

"Yes," he agreed. "Do you think it'll be enough for them to allow the case to remain in CBI hands?"

"No, they need solid evidence of who the real killer is in the United Kingdom, I suspect."

"And how do we go about getting that?"

"I'll deal with it."

O'Laughlin spat at the floor and Red John flinched slightly. That was such a disgusting habit, but it was something his protégé did every so often, especially when he was particularly stressed. Red John let the matter slide; nobody would ever think that they would meet in this specific location. It didn't need quite as much of his attention to detail as it would if he were to kill O'Laughlin, for example.

But that wouldn't happen for a while, at least. Craig O'Laughlin was yet to outlive his usefulness. Besides, Red John had a shrinking suspicion that when it came down to it, one of the agents at the CBI would shoot him to death. That would be poetic justice and it would mean he wouldn't have to get his own hands dirty. If only he could see the look on their faces when they realised that young Craig had been pulling the wool over their eyes for so long. But still, they weren't ready for that moment yet. There was a lot they needed to prepare before they would be. For a start, they needed to get his case back into Patrick Jane's hands.

"He reckoned Aloysius 'Alo' Creevey was hiding something, or at least more than any of the others," O'Laughlin offered, realising he wasn't going to get anymore from Red John. He didn't even need to mention Jane by name for them to know who he was referring to. "And Richard Hardbeck didn't turn up. I'd say that suggests he is running."

Red John accepted a piece of paper from O'Laughlin's hands. Briefly, he scanned over it. It detailed the notes from the questioning of young Aloysius, as well as detailed background analysis of both the young men O'Laughlin had named as potential suspects.

"So, Patrick Jane suspects Aloysius Creevey and Richard Hardbeck? Interesting," Red John stated.

"You think that's enough information to go on? That Patrick Jane can identify the copycat from just a half hour interview?"

"Has he ever steered us wrong?"

"No, but-"

"I shall have to follow up these enquiries."

"How?"

"I'll be out of the country for a period of time, Craig," Red John informed him, ignoring his question. "I trust you to keep my - our - plan ticking over in the meantime."

"Yes, of course…"

Red John didn't even bother to say goodbye. He knew exactly what he needed to do. The first was to fly to the UK, Bristol preferably. If he could locate Aloysius Creevey, then he might just have half a chance of finding the other boy as well.

They would learn from their mistakes. It was just a shame for them that his methods of teaching had rather permanent side-effects.

**TBC…**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Thank you to lysemma for reviewing part twelve.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Thirteen<strong>

_Bristol, UK, Saturday, 5.12pm GMT_

Rich had only ever been to London once before.

He'd been nine, had travelled there with the Cubs, for an educational visit to the Baden Powell Centre. Rich had fucking hated Cubs, but Kevin had forced him to attend. Apparently, it was the basis of what made him grow up to be a good, honest man and therefore, he expected Rich to do the same. But it had been so fucking boring. Stargazing, reading, art. It was the kind of fucking bullshit he had to do at school and he was forced to repeat it again in the evening, when he could have been playing on the computer. Nor did it help that the Akela was a wanker who had it in for him. On the plus side, it had been where he'd met Alo. The two of them had struck up a firm friendship and he'd never looked back.

Until now.

If he hadn't met Alo, eight years ago now, Rich was fairly certain he wouldn't be here now.

He wouldn't be running away from home like a scared little boy who couldn't handle the pressure.

Instead, he might have met Alo later, maybe when they arrived at Roundview. They wouldn't have lived in each other's pockets and therefore, when Alo had made that fatal mistake, his first thought wouldn't have been of Rich. What Alo would have done instead, he didn't know. But he'd have still been at home, as horrified as the others at the knowledge of Liv's murder. He'd have been able to support his girlfriend in her time of need, as she mourned the loss of one of her best friends. Been the emotional crutch he should have been instead of leaving her high and dry and adding more fucking heartbreak to a rapidly growing list.

Rich shook his head. He shouldn't bother thinking about that. Not now. It wasn't healthy and it made him miss everything he sacrificed all the more. But he'd made the right decision, hadn't he? He'd probably saved his own life. And it made him look guilty too. Therefore, if Red John did dare to fly over, he wouldn't bother the others. Wouldn't think Alo or Matty or Franky were responsible. He'd hone his focus on him and wouldn't be able to find him. Simply because he'd disappeared like a puff of smoke.

He was wandering London's West End because he had nothing else to do with a Saturday afternoon. Really, he should have been looking for a job or something, but wasn't capable of focusing at this moment in time. A crowd of people, many clutching paraphernalia for the production of _Ghost the Musical_, bustled past him. Many of them were chattering excitedly about various special effects and illusions, whilst others were still sobbing. Rich couldn't help but stifle a laugh at just how over-emotional they were. He allowed himself to be washed along with the crowd and eventually, he found himself near Piccadilly Circus tube station, staring at the Criterion Theatre. It was the current home of _The 39 Steps_. That was familiar; he'd heard of it before.

And then it hit him. Grace, of course. She loved the theatre and had been to London to see shows with her parents multiple times. In fact, she had been hinting that they should come here and see something on their anniversary. She wanted to share her love of theatre with him, to make him see the magic she saw in it. Rather like the time he had tried to explain what was so special about metal. Of course, she hadn't quite got it and he sincerely doubted whether or not he would actually understand her enthusiasm for stage shows either. However, Grace had spent hours dwelling over what would be appropriate; most, if not all, musicals were out of the question. Eventually, she had settled on the fact they should see this play, specifically. She'd loved the Hitchcock film and was aching to see the stage show. He smirked slightly as he tried to remember her description of it. Comedy, four actors, a man on the run for a murder he didn't commit.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

He shook his head and headed for the theatre door. After all, some tickets were probably still available for the evening performance and they might just accept a quick look at his student ID to give him some sort of a discount. And if he was never going to see Grace again, he might as well give her passion one last shot whilst he was thinking about her.

Besides, if nothing else, it killed time.

_Merced, CA, USA, Saturday, 09.32pm PST_

"It's meant to be a cast of _four_," Schaber, playing the character of Richard Hannay, announced with a near-perfect English accent.

The audience laughed uproariously at the gag and Cho merely smirked. Van Pelt immediately noticed this and couldn't help but join in the laughter. They had arrived in Merced just after the second act of _The 39 Steps _had started. Cho, naturally, had wanted to interrupt the production in order to locate Cera. Van Pelt, however, understood that the audience deserved to see the end of the show. They had paid good money to attend and therefore, it would have been rude of them to ruin their Saturday night out. It wasn't as if they wanted to interrogate or arrest Antony Cera, they just required a quick interview with him. After all, he had slipped through the cracks the first time they had been at this theatre and it was a loose end they had to rectify. If they didn't, it was the kind of thing a half-decent lawyer could hang them with, proverbially speaking, once the case went to court. Not that they had a murderer yet, more a handful of people with potential motives. The wife, the understudy and yes, Cera himself, given the recent revelation of his affair.

Instead of annoying a thousand patrons, a polite word with the front of house staff had granted them access to the auditorium for the remainder of the show. The staff certainly didn't want the show interrupted either; it would have led to them being out of pocket, given the fact they would have had to offer refunds or replacement tickets to the entirety of the audience. Instead, a shy young man lead them to the back of the stalls, where they could stand and observe the four actors tying up the rest of the show.

It was a shame they hadn't been able to watch the entirety of the show, really. Van Pelt had thoroughly enjoyed it last time, when O'Laughlin had treated her to tickets in San Francisco. She was also certain that Cho would have enjoyed it too; it was the kind of humour that everyone got, regardless of age and background. Besides, all four actors were phenomenally talented and she doubted whether or not people would actually be able to tell that Schaber was merely the understudy. Though, considering his colleague's untimely demise, he could quite easily have been bumped up to principle already. She wondered how long it would take them to replace Hayes, whether or not they already had a new understudy for Richard Hannay. Van Pelt didn't know much about the theatre or how the casting worked, just that she enjoyed it very much whenever she had the opportunity to go. Given her occupation, that was a lot more rarely than she would have otherwise liked.

Almost as soon as they had arrived, or so it felt to Van Pelt, the curtain call arrived and the stars of the show gratefully accepted their applause. Minutes later, people bustled past them, ready to go home or hit the town. After the general hubbub quietened slightly, Cho nodded slightly at her and indicated to an exit. It was time for them to head backstage and find the elusive Antony Cera. They had been informed by their young guide that Cera had been in the building, but wouldn't be free to discuss anything until after the final bows had been taken. That was entirely understandable; as stage manager, he probably had to ensure that everything ran smoothly, especially in a show as prop-heavy and intensive as _The 39 Steps_.

The first person they saw backstage was Amalia Ford. The woman didn't say a word and instead, blanked them entirely. It was common knowledge amongst the team that Ford had indeed lodged a complaint against Jane. However, she was unlikely to get the apology she craved; sooner or later, somebody would press the right buttons which would make her drop the whole matter. A sly dig at her diva-like behaviour would probably be enough. Besides, it was blindingly obvious that her affair with the young stagehand was common knowledge. Nobody in the company seemed to bat an eyelid at the fact that two women were dating, which was as it should be, as far as Van Pelt was concerned. Love was love, whatever the form it came in.

"Excuse me, but you're out of bounds. Backstage is for cast and crew only."

Van Pelt jumped and vaguely recognised the woman addressing them from beforehand. The company manager, or something. Or at least, somebody who was high up within the hierarchy of the show. The main thing she could remember was that the woman had a cast iron alibi and clearly, considering she couldn't remember herself and Cho, a memory like a sieve.

"We're with the CBI, ma'am?" Van Pelt spoke quickly and politely. "We're looking to speak to Antony Cera?"

The woman's features softened when she vaguely recalled the CBI coming to question the entire cast and crew after poor Harrison Hayes' brutal murder. These poor people had a job to do and it was her responsibility to make it easier on them.

"Antony? I'm sorry but he left thirty minutes ago," she replied, slightly saddened that she couldn't help. "Was coming down with something. There is a virus going around the company, right now…"

"Thank you for your help."

Van Pelt's frown deepened as they left, with Cho already on his cell phone. This complicated matters. Did it mean that Cera had heard of their arrival and escaped before they had a chance to talk with him? Or was he genuinely sick and holed back up in his motel room? She genuinely hoped it was the latter, but had a shrinking feeling that it wouldn't be; it would be too simple. If he had disappeared, it meant that tracking him would be harder. They'd be reliant on an APB and other LEOs picking up on him. On the plus side, if he had, it looked like they had a very definite suspect.

"Just called the motel," Cho spoke as they climbed into the van. "Cera returned briefly, but left taking all of his belongings. I want you to organise an APB on him while I drive."

Van Pelt nodded and immediately set to work, after he supplied her with a partial number plate too. This could easily spiral out of control now. The last thing she wanted to do was be so late home. It was the weekend and she had been hoping to spend some quality time with O'Laughlin.

_Bristol, UK, Sunday, 11.37am GMT_

Grace had spent all of Saturday bombarding Alo with texts. As if he needed anymore reminders about what had happened, about what he'd done. First, he'd risked his Dad's health. Had him hospitalised and nearly lost Rags in the process. Then, Liv. The less said about that the better. And now? His best mate had done a runner, because he was terrified that some American psychopath was flying over just to kill him. As if that kind of thing happened in the real world.

Then again, did best mates accidentally kill each other and then try and hide the crime in the real world? Maybe he shouldn't be quite so judgemental.

Grace tugged irritably at his arm. She was clearly aching to get to Rich's home. Not that he was living there anymore, Alo already knew that. But he couldn't exactly turn around and tell Grace, of all people, that Rich had done a runner. It would lead to too many unanswerable questions. Grace would inevitably tell Franky and then Franky… Well. Franky wasn't exactly one to leave things alone. She'd keep digging until she found out the truth. Alo was already half-convinced that sooner or later, the girl would try and solve Liv's murder on her own. Or maybe with Matty as an accomplice. That would mainly depend on just how impatient the girl was to get to the bottom of things. And besides, it would have been Grace asking Franky to research it and _nobody_ could turn Grace down. That would have been like kicking a puppy. It was just wrong.

That was half the reason he had finally agreed to accompany her here. Of course, there was still that nagging guilt at the back of his mind, but he stubbornly ignored it. Theoretically, she could have come to talk to Kevin Hardbeck on her own, but she'd claimed she needed moral support. Mini and Franky, having never set foot in the Hardbeck residence, had flatly refused her request. And besides, he was Rich's best mate and therefore had to be on good terms with Rich's family. Didn't he?

Apprehensively, Alo knocked at the door, keeping his fingers and toes crossed that there wouldn't be an answer. That Kevin would be out somewhere. Maybe even looking for his son, as he hadn't been home since Friday morning. When a figure appeared at the door and it swung open, his heart sank a little. Briefly, he glanced to his left. Grace looked so pleased and hopeful, he couldn't help but cheer up a little. However, he also knew what was going to happen. Kevin would say that he hadn't seen Rich all weekend, that he had assumed he was with him or Grace. Then, everything would spiral out of control.

"Hello Mr. Hardbeck," Grace said brightly, smiling at the man.

"How nice to see you, Grace. And Aloysius too!" Kevin replied, matching her smile. "Would you like to come in?"

"If you don't mind…"

"Of course not. You're welcome at any time," Kevin assured her as they filed inside.

"Would you like a drink? A cup of tea?"

"Yes please, Mr. Hardbeck," Grace answered politely as Alo nodded in answer.

"Three teas it is then," Kevin confirmed and drifted off in the direction of the kitchen. "Make yourselves comfortable in the living room. And it's Kevin, Grace. You've known me long enough already."

They sat with tea in hand and Kevin smiled brightly at them. Alo had almost forgotten just how different at face value Rich was to his father. Where Rich appeared to have a superiority complex and was incredibly judgmental, Kevin was warm and accepting of everything. He hadn't even been that fazed by the fact that Rich and Grace had tried to marry without his prior knowledge. In fact, Alo had even been there when the man had just brushed it off with a simple 'kids will be kids'. And now, he was about to bring the man's life down like a house made of playing cards.

"So, how can I help you two?"

"We're sorry to bother you…" Grace started tentatively.

"Never, it's never a bother," Kevin interrupted warmly and she nodded in response.

"Well, it's just I haven't heard from Rich in a couple of days," she continued, with more confidence. "He wasn't at college on Friday and he hasn't been answering his phone…"

"He wasn't at college on Friday?"

"No."

"He's not answering his phone?" Kevin echoed, having barely heard Grace's response. "But I thought he was with you."

"We haven't seen him since Thursday night," Alo confirmed and Kevin nodded. He remembered the last time he saw Alo at his doorstep all too clearly.

"Well, thank you, you two," the man answered, trying desperately to keep his voice level. "I'll have to look into this."

That was exactly the reaction Alo had expected.

**TBC…**


	14. Chapter 14

**Part Fourteen**

_Bristol, UK, Monday, 03.43am GMT _

Sometimes living a dual life was draining. It could be difficult to keep your mindsets separated, to have a complete focus on one side of your existence or the other. On other occasions, it was productive, stimulating and highly useful. When used correctly, one could quite easily become a complement to the other.

His wife hadn't been happy when he had informed her about business. She hated the fact that he was away for such long hours, that he barely had time to spend with their precious daughter. The woman had almost gone as far as accusing him of neglecting her, but bit on her tongue at that. Really, what he was doing was providing for her. In both his lives. She knew that his work put money on the table, meant that she didn't have to slave away for long hours in an office job. It provided her with a life of luxury and meant that she could watch their little girl grow up. Seven already, she was. About the age when Mr. Jane's daughter came to a sorry demise. As for his other life, well, that ridded the world of fools and madmen. People who could potentially wreak havoc with her pretty little mind.

In contrast, it hadn't taken much persuading to convince his boss that they should send a delegate to the United Kingdom to deal with the current crisis the business was facing. That they needed their expertise to make sure that everything was dealt with effectively, to ensure that everything ran smoothly. To make sure that their second largest market was safe and secure. It took even less effort to convince his boss that he was the right man for the task. A little bit of subliminal messaging here, a touch of hypnotism there and the buffoon was eating out of his hands.

He also knew that the fat cats in suits would hardly notice if he took a day or two out of his business trip to make an excursion. To indulge a little in his hobby. Or rather, his second life.

The bags in front of him circled round and round. He waited patiently, with his briefcase parked neatly by his feet, for a familiar suitcase to appear. It was hardly surprising that his would be the last to be unloaded from the aircraft, especially as he wanted to make a swift exit. Whilst in flight, he'd taken the time to sleep, to make sure he felt fresh and rejuvenated once they landed. This was going to be a very busy visit. Briefly, he smirked as the last conversation he had with his superior flitted across his mind.

"You don't mind flying via Bristol Airport?" he had asked. "It was the best we could do at such short notice."

Of course it was fine, perfect even. Bristol had excellent transportation, with direct links to London. He assured them that it didn't even matter that he would be arriving at the dead of the night. Nearby, he had friends and was certain that they would offer him a bed for a while. It was only bending the truth a little… well. Quite considerably, really.

But still, the people he intended to visit had asked for it. Had brought it on themselves. There had been occasions in the past when he had announced that he couldn't abide pale imitations of his work. In business and in pleasure. It didn't matter what country they resided in, he would still find a way to deal with them. To teach them a lesson.

It was just unfortunate, for them, that his teaching methods had rather permanent side effects. Unlike those of the teachers they had at school, which could easily be disregarded as soon as the bell tolled, indicating that class was over.

He smiled as he spotted a familiar suitcase and swiftly hauled it off the baggage carousel. It didn't have everything he needed; even a notorious criminal couldn't smuggle a surgical knife into England. And he liked to think there was a little bit of notoriety behind his pseudonym these days. But it was no matter. It wouldn't take long for him to procure an ideal substitute in this foreign land. No, his suitcase merely contained clothing and paperwork required for his other life. To deliver to the UK branch of Crimson Enterprises. That was to be dealt with later, however.

Right now, he had competition to eliminate. Not that a couple of naïve teenagers would put up much of a fight at all.

_Bristol, UK, Monday, 11.37am GMT_

"Oh fuck it."

Mini looked somewhat startled at the profanity, but Grace didn't care. She was angry and stressed and really couldn't be fucking arsed when it came to English Literature. Not today, anyway.

She had tried talking to her father the night before. He had been genuinely sorry that Liv was dead, especially considering he knew she was a good friend of hers. However, she also knew that David Blood had also considered her to be reckless and a bad influence. That he was more hopeful of her living up to his expectations now that Liv was gone. When she had brought up the fact that she hadn't heard from Rich all weekend, he was less than sympathetic. In fact, he was positively jubilant at the fact that his daughter's relationship was finally having some sort of crisis. He still hadn't quite forgiven her for forging his signature and attempting to marry Rich without his consent.

The declaration that her grades were the only reason he kept her in Roundview at all were the final straw.

Of course, Grace had expected that, but it didn't mean she wanted to hear it. Her father had been obsessed with grades and the like ever since he'd become the head of Roundview. It was something she had learned to live with. But to freely admit that he only allowed his only daughter to attend was to make him look good made her feel resentful. Surely it should have been because he _knew_ his college was doing a good enough job to educate his own flesh and blood?

Haphazardly, she shoved all of her belongings back into her bag. At least it had only been a study period and she wasn't storming out of class. Nobody seemed to notice her leave either and she was grateful for that. Then again, the majority of her mates took the term 'study' quite loosely and were simply relaxing before the next class. Instead, they were all banking on cramming just before the exam period and getting through their A Levels on a wing and a prayer.

Once outside, she let out the breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding in. Grace wandered for a while, not really having any particular destination in mind. Eventually, she perched herself on a wall and stared out at the grass. A few classmates, ones she only knew vaguely, were spotted about, enjoying one of the last days of Autumn. Soon, the weather would turn and all they had to look forward to was the wind, rain and snow. In one swift movement, she opened her bag and pulled out a bottle of vodka. She wasn't usually one for carrying spirits around with her, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, after everything that had happened recently, this was the least that she deserved.

When she heard footsteps from behind, she bitterly ignored them. Roundview College was a busy place and therefore, Grace simply assumed that it was another student, or a member of staff, simply going about their business. Why would she have any need to think otherwise? Quickly, she unscrewed the lid and sipped at the vodka. It burned the back of her throat slightly, but she didn't care. Not anymore. What was the point? If you cared about something, you would only get your heart broken sooner or later.

She jumped slightly when she felt a hand graze on her right shoulder and seemingly out of nowhere, Mini sat beside her, smiling slightly. So, she had been wrong. Somebody had noticed her disappearance and decided to make chase. Still, it didn't change a fucking thing. Didn't get Rich to return her calls, nor did it bring Liv back from the dead. It didn't make her dad see just how much this was all hurting her, either.

"Grace Violet, the rebel," Mini said with a smirk, holding out her hand. "You know, we're not meant to drink on college property."

Grace rolled her eyes in response, but still handed over the bottle of vodka. It had been a long week and she knew that tomorrow was going to be tough. Wednesday last week, she had imagined that when it came around to the funeral, Rich would be there by her side. He would wrap a solid arm around her waist and remain the stoic pragmatist that he was. Never patronising her, allowing her to get the tears out of her system. Always being her supportive knight in shining armour.

Now, she didn't even have a clue where the fuck he was.

Vaguely, she'd heard rumours of Kevin Hardbeck having to go in for questioning shortly after she and Alo had visited him. That meant they must have been suspecting that Rich had been involved. She shuddered slightly at the thought, grabbed the bottle of drink roughly from Mini's hand and immediately downed a sizeable portion. The concept was utterly preposterous. Why the fuck would Rich have any reason to kill Liv? What would be his motive? Rich wasn't into mindless thuggery, he wasn't a fool. This was all just slander and propaganda based on the way he chose to dress and what music he enjoyed listening to.

Then again, if it was just lies, why the hell hadn't he gone to the police station with them on Friday? Why had he avoided talking to the American police officers?

Why was he avoiding _her_?

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Monday, 03.32pm PST_

Rigsby glanced at his watch and frowned. Van Pelt still wasn't back yet. She had disappeared at around midday, to meet O'Laughlin for lunch. And now, it was gone three and Cho hadn't seemed to have noticed. Instead, the man was elbow deep in case files, trying desperately to see if he could find anything from the copious number of interviews they had carried out in the past week. The case seemed to have come to a grinding halt, mostly because they hadn't seen hide nor hair of Antony Cera. The APB was proving to be utterly useless.

However, just because there didn't appear to be a lot to do, it didn't mean there actually was. The missing link could jump out at them at any given second and then they would be rushed off their feet. With homicide murders, speed was of the essence. If they were just five minutes late, their suspect could quite easily disappear without a trace once more. Therefore, as far as he was concerned, they needed Van Pelt here. And instead, she was using office time to flirt with her boyfriend, distracting O'Laughlin from his own work.

That meant Lisbon was probably fuming too. She needed O'Laughlin in order to try and prove that the English Red John outbreak was merely a copycat killer. That the case should rightfully still be theirs.

He hated this. Everyone was so stressed at the moment. They'd had to work throughout the weekend, trying desperately to close this damn thing. Why couldn't they find the shred of evidence to link everything together? They couldn't even be sure Cera was responsible, they hadn't had the proof yet. Backlogs in forensics meant that they were still yet to receive evidence of fingerprinting on the murder weapon. And even if he was responsible, they still had to track him down in order to arrest him. If Jane hadn't been so busy, then he would probably have solved this in an instant and they would have been free to move onto another case or to start sifting through cold cases. Or, to focus on Red John with the others, as they should have been.

Then again, they didn't need Jane, did they? He was just a useful asset to the team. As much as he made things easier for them, he also overcomplicated everything with his outlandish plans. The kind of thing that inevitably lead to lawsuits and risking the cases being thrown out of court.

"Hello, everyone."

Rigsby scowled at the sound of Van Pelt's cheerful tones. Considering everything that was going on, she appeared far too content for his own good. Briefly, he glanced up, to see O'Laughlin kiss her gently on the cheek before disappearing in the direction of Lisbon's office. As always, Rigsby could feel the green eyed monster flaring up inside. He and Van Pelt, they could have been together still, if it wasn't for the stupid CBI rules. Realistically, he knew why they were in place, he just didn't like it. If they were together, in love, they could theoretically make stupid mistakes. Romantic connections would make undercover gigs all the harder, distract them in the field in the middle of a shootout and the like. But still, Grace Van Pelt was the love of his life and seeing her everyday, even though he knew she was with somebody else was virtually killing him inside.

"You're late," Cho stated, not even looking up to greet her.

"I know, I'm sorry, it's just-"

This time, he did stand up and Rigsby watched as Cho slammed a large file on her desk. Van Pelt flinched at the sound of it hitting hard wood, immediately obvious to the rest of the team's irritation. She had meant to be back an hour ago and yet, she had been off gallivanting with her boyfriend. It was strange; when they had been together, she had been so conscientious when it came to work. Rigsby would try and encourage her to stall, to spend just ten more minutes indulging in being together, alone. However, she always insisted that it was for the best that they headed back to the office, or wherever they were currently stationed. It was all a part of the cover up, making sure that nobody found out they were secretly in a relationship together. He wondered what it was about O'Laughlin that made her seemingly not care about her professionalism at this moment in time.

"I don't care. Just work through these. Let me know if anything pops."

Miserably, Rigsby glanced down at the form he was filling in himself. It was looking likely that the rest of the day was going to go painfully slowly.

**TBC…**


	15. Chapter 15

**Part Fifteen**

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 09.43am GMT _

"Give me some of that."

Franky shrugged and handed Matty the cigarette. Over the past week, she had become so accustomed to spending time with him, in silence, either in front of a computer screen, smoking spliff or drinking spirits. Neither of them seemed to want to talk; acknowledging it verbally would have made the situation real. Liv had been important to her, in a strange way. After all, Liv had officially been with Matty, in a relationship. It was just that the two of them had let Franky into their circle and had been pushing her boundaries. Naturally, sometimes Franky couldn't help but pull away in discomfort. The things they did were often so far out of her comfort zone and yet, she couldn't help but be intrigued. After all, humans were a naturally inquisitive species. Theoretically, anyway. Some of the people Franky had known had left her questioning that fact.

She wondered what would happen to them now. Her and Matty. Franky had always been drawn to him. Not attracted, specifically, but drawn. There was something about him that made her want to pull close, to try and understand him. He was an enigma, a mystery and that was what she liked about him. These days, too many people wore their hearts on their sleeves and could be read at face value. Nobody seemed to appreciate the appeal of a mystery any longer.

Matty extinguished the butt with a stamp of his foot. He looked angry. Then again, they all were. They had only heard about the funeral twenty four hours ago. Franky was surprised that it was happening so soon; that Liv's body had been released so that her family could bury her. Or cremate, whatever. The point being, it all felt too soon. It wasn't as if she had died from a drug overdose or in a tragic car crash or whatever. She had been murdered and the police hadn't done a fucking thing about it. Instead, they were relying on people thousands of miles away to do their job for them. If the bastard had already been put behind bars, then maybe Franky would have been able to understand Liv's funeral being today. How could they be expected to get closure from all of this if the cops didn't even know who did it yet? "We should do something."

Pulling her gaze up from the floor, Franky stopped to regard Matty. He often had a habit of doing things like that; saying exactly the thing she was thinking about. The fact that they were so often on the same wavelength would have unnerved her in other people, but not in him. Instead, she just appreciated the fact that somebody else came remotely close to understanding the way she viewed the world.

"Like what?"

"I dunno," he answered with a shrug. "It's not as if the police are doing anything and we're wasting our fucking time, sitting in front of a computer all the time."

Franky nodded slightly in agreement. There wasn't much on Red John that they could find online. The majority of the information all seemed to revolve around Patrick Jane, the weird American cop who had interviewed them on the webcam. All the old news reports said he was a psychic and that he had angered Red John, which meant the serial killer murdered his family in retaliation. Additional notes always stated that Mr. Jane had started working with the CBI in order to bring Red John to justice. Franky couldn't help but see that as a positive way of channelling rage.

But what could Liv have done to attract the attention of a murderer seemingly based in California?

It either had to be someone mimicking his style or Red John showing just how powerful he was to anger Mr. Jane.

Whichever, it didn't bring Liv back. It didn't change the fact that there was a dangerous psychopath in Bristol, somewhere. Either they had been born here, could have known Liv for years or she was just a victim of a random act of violence. Franky felt the anger bubbling up inside her at the injustice of it all. Sure, Liv wasn't perfect, nobody was, but she certainly didn't deserve to die so young and in such a horrific way. And the worst of it all was that nobody seemed to be putting any serious effort into solving the case.

On top of that, Rich had fucked off somewhere too. Acting as if he was the only one who was grieving for Liv. They hadn't even been particularly close. If Rich hadn't been going out with Grace, they wouldn't really have had a reason to exchange two words.

"We should see their reports. See if we can find anything out," Franky said, the words slipping out before she had a chance to really think about them.

"Yeah. We just need to get into the station somehow, they don't give a fuck about security," Matty agreed with a wry smile. "It's not as if they know what the hell they're doing."

Franky reciprocated the smile. Somehow, she wasn't dreading the funeral quite so much anymore.

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Tuesday, 07.32am PST_

Craig O'Laughlin paced around his lounge, staring bitterly at his cell phone, occasionally taking a drag out of his cigarette. He had called Red John sporadically all weekend, trying desperately to find out what was happening. All he knew was that Red John had flown out to England a couple of days beforehand. But that wasn't good enough; he needed updates and fast. Otherwise, how was he to know how soon it would be until everything was back on track? If Red John didn't hurry up, then there was the worry that the case would be permanently signed over to the FBI. Then, all their years of painstaking hard work would have been for nothing. Jane would have no reason to remain with the CBI and the FBI certainly wouldn't have him. The man was far more trouble than he was worth, even with his supposed insight into the Red John case. Red John himself would find it increasingly difficult to orchestrate a meeting with the man and therefore, have no chance to tell him of his retirement. Thus, he wouldn't be able to essentially tell Jane that he had lost. To steal away everything that he had been working for all these years. Red John wouldn't be able to disappear into obscurity and crush all of Patrick Jane's hopes in one move.

Then there was the simple fact of what he was going to do when he caught up with those responsible in England. Jane had suspected those two kids, but that didn't make him right. Just because he was good at reading people, it didn't mean he was a genius. However, if Jane was correct and those kids had killed their friend, what was Red John going to do with them? The killer had a temper, that much was obvious. Would he really be able to let them walk away after they tried to pin a crime he didn't commit on him? And if not, how would he cover up his tracks to ensure they didn't find out he had stepped in?

On top of that, Van Pelt was boring him senseless. She constantly complained about whatever case they were working on. That she didn't get enough time out in the field and everyone else always got to do the fun jobs. Moaned about the fact she missed working with certain people. Yesterday afternoon, he had been treated to her waxing lyrical about how wonderful Jane and Lisbon were and how she wished they were all focussing on the same case again. And most annoyingly, she sometimes whined about how he was ignoring her and pushing her away. O'Laughlin really didn't have time for crap like this. Really, her childlike behaviour was enough to make him resent Red John. After all, it had been his idea that he wooed Grace Van Pelt in order to get insight into the Serious Crimes Unit. Up until now, he had been doing a very good job of pulling the wool over everyone's eyes. Even Patrick Jane himself hadn't seen through his well-crafted act. But they needed to succeed, to make sure that spending so much time with Van Pelt was worth the effort. As soon as all this was over, that pathetic idiot, Wayne Rigsby, would be more than welcome to have her back in his life. They deserved each other.

Quickly, he glanced at his clock. Really, he should be heading back to the CBI headquarters. Then again, he was dreading it. For a start, Van Pelt would already be there, diligently working at her laptop, trying to find this Cera character. She would probably try and corner him while he fixed his morning coffee and moan about the fact that nothing was working. After he'd kissed her on the cheek, he would have to head towards Teresa Lisbon's office, where World War Three could quite easily have broken out.

After all, Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane weren't the easiest of people to work with. Jane seemed to like to offend anyone he came across with his brutal honesty. It didn't matter whether or not he had only just met them or known them for years. Anybody was game, if he was bored enough. He constantly picked arguments with Lisbon, who continued to grow more exasperated as the day went on. Who knew why she kept the man around? It was blindingly obvious that he made her life more stressful than it should have been. Then again, there were moments when she could be as bad as he was. And besides, she was a control freak of the highest order. The moment they got any closer to sorting out this Malone dilemma, she immediately had to take charge. It didn't matter that technically, he was meant to be the lead agent until they had proof that Red John hadn't been responsible for the young English girl's death.

Of course, he could theoretically give them all the evidence they needed. He knew exactly where Red John had been at the time of the murder, simply because he had been with him at the time. Even a notorious serial killer couldn't be in two places at once.

But then he would be outing himself as the CBI's infamous mole. It was the subject everyone was talking about. The gossips were throwing about ludicrous suggestions as to the identity of the Todd Johnson's murderer. Brenda Shettrick, Madeleine Hightower, JJ LaRoche, even Lisbon herself on occasion. Sooner or later they would have to find out, but only when Red John was ready for it. Instead, they would have to get the cold, hard evidence the hard way, even if it did require a helping hand from the serial killer himself.

With a sigh, he grabbed his keys and cell phone and disposed of the cigarette. Silently, he hoped that Lisbon and Jane would be in a good mood today. For some reason, he sincerely doubted it.

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 04.37pm GMT_

The funeral had been nice. Or rather, it was as nice as Alo had expected a funeral could be.

Not that he'd expected much. He'd only been to one other funeral before Liv's. When his Gran had died, Alo had only been three. His Mam always said that he'd attended and he'd bawled throughout, but he couldn't remember a thing about it. He couldn't remember his Gran either, for that matter. But that was hardly surprising, really. As far as he was concerned, it was a lifetime ago.

Then again, a lot of things felt like that. Eight days ago, the worst thing he'd accidentally done was kill a cow. That was something he'd seriously regretted. After all, it was his own idiocy that had lead to Bessie being blown up. If he hadn't dropped his cigarette in the wrong place, then his parents would still have their prized cow. But what he'd done now made Bessie seem like something completely trivial. He had taken the life of another human being, one of his _mates_ and nobody else knew about it. Nobody, except Rich, who had disappeared and was seemingly blaming himself, despite not pulling the trigger and only helping with the cover up.

The others were still inside. Even though it was a wake, they still wanted to make use of the free bar, if only to drown their sorrows. However, he couldn't stand it anymore. He felt like everyone was staring at him, like they all knew what he'd done. That Liv's blood was on his hands. They were just waiting for him to confess, so they could call the police and let him rot in prison. Arguably, like he deserved. However much he pleaded, they wouldn't believe that it was an accident, that he hadn't killed her in cold blood. He didn't even think the fucking thing was loaded. It wasn't meant to end like this. It was just another mistake to add to the shitload he'd done before. But however sorry he was, however much he begged for forgiveness, it wouldn't bring Liv back from the dead. It wouldn't stop them all from being heartbroken. Therefore, he had just had to stay quiet, to protect himself. It wasn't as if he could turn back time and take it all back. What was the point in him ruining his own life when it wouldn't change a fucking thing?

Then again, that guy with the knife could always go to the police too. Alo had seen Agnes Malone's tearful plea on the television so the man who'd tried to attack them could have too. If he did, it would have meant this whole fucking charade was pointless. Why the fuck didn't he think of that sooner? How could he have blanked out the reason why he had fired the gun in the first place? Why did he bother dragging Rich down with him when there was somebody out there who could just spill all to the police?

With shaking hands, Alo rolled himself up another spliff. He needed something to calm down. Thinking like this was what had made Rich run away. If he wanted to carry on living his life as usual, he needed to get his head straight. And hope for a hell of a lot of luck. Swiftly, he lit it up and took a deep drag. After a couple of seconds, he let out a breath of relief. It was good stuff. Just what he needed after a day like today.

The only positive was that it meant they got a day off of college. But that wasn't really all that brilliant in the scheme of things.

A strange man with curled red hair and glasses walked towards him, probably heading for the pub. Obviously, the man hadn't heard that the whole building had been hired out for the wake. Then again, he'd soon learn his mistake and leave. Alo decided to ignore him. He wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone. Somebody else could send this potential gatecrasher away and he could enjoy his spliff in peace. However, the man seemed to have other ideas. Instead of heading straight for the door, as Alo had expected, he stopped directly in front of him and smiled benignly.

"Are you Aloysius Creevey?"

Alo frowned and sniffed slightly. Then, he dropped his spliff, extinguished it with his left foot and considered the situation. He had never seen this man before in his life, so how the flying fuck did he know his name? It wasn't as if he was wearing a name badge or anything. Perhaps he was some creepy psycho stalker who had found him on Facebook or Twitter or something? It took him a couple of seconds to place the man's accent. American, not particularly strong, but definitely American. Alo shuddered slightly; he didn't like that. Quickly, he blinked and tried to dispel the thoughts. It had to be a coincidence. There could easily be some kind of harmless explanation for it. All he had to do was play it cool. He'd be fine.

"What the fuck is it to you?"

The man smiled and glanced down at his right hand. Alo's eyes followed his gaze and concealed in his right pocket was a handgun. Quickly, Alo glanced back up at the man's face and saw him grinning brightly.

"I suggest you come with me, Mr. Creevey."

**TBC…**


	16. Chapter 16

**Part Sixteen**

_Redding, CA, USA, Tuesday, 09.32am PST_

Rigsby yawned as they pulled up outside the gas station. At five a.m., Cho had called him, stating that Cera had been spotted checking into a motel on the outskirts of Redding the previous evening. After working late the night before, he hadn't much appreciated the early start. Then again, it was something to be expected from time to time. He'd chosen this career path, so he shouldn't complain too much. If he'd wanted a regular nine to five job, he'd have become a banker or something equally mundane. Instead, he'd chosen to defy his father and become a cop. After all the damage his dad had done to society, it was about time one of them paid it back and his father wasn't about to any time soon. And whenever they caught one of the bad guys and put them behind bars, it made the long hours and stress seem worthwhile.

He gulped down his coffee as he waited for Cho to return to the car. Much to their annoyance, their informant had given them the wrong address for the motel. It was often the case. Some members of the general public were always keen to help, but they never seemed to have all the information they required. When Cho returned, he was smiling wryly. Thanks to a combination of semi-helpful store owners and Van Pelt's handiwork on a laptop, he finally had what Rigsby presumed was the right destination.

They travelled in silence to Palm Heights Motel. Rigsby groaned inwardly as he saw the building. It was as tacky as the name suggested, but then again, as Cera was on the run from the law, his budget probably didn't stretch to anything more luxurious. Besides, the staff at this kind of place never seemed to care what happened in their rooms. They were just grateful for the opportunity to prise the money out of other people's wallets. If that meant they had to turn a blind eye to illegal goings on, then so be it. Unfortunately, whenever they came knocking at the door, it put the staff in an uncomfortable position. Usually, they saw sense and told the truth. After all, it was a homicide investigation; there was always room for negotiation if needs be.

Cho headed straight towards the reception and Rigsby fell into step behind. It didn't bother him when Cho took the lead; he was the more experienced agent of the two of them. And besides, Lisbon had officially put him in charge of this case, so he was to report back to Cho at all times. He watched as Cho flashed the badge at the elderly receptionist, who stiffened slightly in response. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting any cops to call around any time soon.

"Have you seen this man?" Cho enquired, immediately cutting to the chase.

"I don't know, we see _so_ many people come and go here."

"Ma'am, this is a homicide investigation."

"Is it?"

"Yes," Rigsby snapped back, allowing his temper to get the better of him briefly. "If you don't co-operate…"

"Oh about time," she answered with a chuckle. "A bit of fire. What do you want to know?"

Rigsby suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He should have realised that the batty old woman was just pressing his buttons. However, he really wasn't in the mood for this. Although he'd been awake for a few hours and drunk a couple of coffees since, Rigsby still felt like he had just got up. All he wanted was for people to give them the answers straight and move on.

Unfortunately, all she confirmed was that he had simply stayed the night and handed over a partial number plate. Unusually, she had given up the information quickly. Then again, Cera was no longer her customer, so she probably didn't feel the duty to protect him any longer. As they headed back to the car, Rigsby called Van Pelt and relayed the information. It was possible that she would be able to find it somewhere nearby, especially if Cera had stopped off for something to eat. They were due to get lucky. Then again, whenever he thought that, it always seemed to overcomplicate the case. She called back five minutes later, as efficient as ever.

"Rigsby," he said, though he knew full well who Van Pelt was expecting to answer the phone.

"It's me," Van Pelt said softly, just as he expected. "I got a hit on that partial plate? Unfortunately it's been dumped just outside of Redding, on Eureka Way."

"Damn it," Rigsby answered, annoyed that the trail was fizzling out and fast. "Thanks, Van Pelt."

Quickly, he relayed the information to Cho. Just because the car had been dumped, it didn't mean they could just ignore it. Theoretically, there could be some useful information there. Something concrete that tied him to the murder, rather than the tenuous link that he ran. Or knowing their luck, maybe not, but they had to know for sure.

_Bristol, UK, Tuesday, 06.37pm GMT_

"You have to be fucking kidding me," Mini muttered under her breath.

She wasn't surprised that people were still discussing the murder investigation. Of course, it was going to be the subject on everyone's lips until the murderer was found. Either that, or completely forgotten about over time as the police failed to find important clues leading to the person, or people, responsible. But that wouldn't happen for a long while. The news was still new and raw. Newspapers were still eager for interviews with people who knew Liv, the police were still making statements on the news and Liv's mum was regularly making pleas for more information. Until something changed, this would be a part of day to day life.

However, she didn't expect to hear Franky and Matty planning to commit a crime, under hushed breaths, during the wake.

It was fucking disrespectful for a start. How would they like it if people were at an event to honour them and instead, were simply thinking about illegal activities? Besides, the gang had already been touched by a serious crime so recently. It was stupid for them to even consider another. Mini knew full well that it was slightly hypocritical. After all, the kind of things that they did to have fun were technically against the law too, but that was kids' stuff, child's play. And more importantly, it didn't affect other people. Nobody cared if they drank some vodka a year early or smoked a spliff. It was their prerogative. As teenagers, it was almost expected of them to experiment in such a way. Robberies, they had implications elsewhere. Innocent victims and the like. It was wrong.

Roughly, she grabbed Franky by the arm and pulled her into the quiet solitude of the toilets. It wasn't the most pleasant place to talk, but at least Matty wouldn't dare follow them. Mini was pleased that Franky had willingly come along with her; it made things easier. Then again, the girl was used to Mini doing things like this. If Mini McGuinness wanted something, then nine times out of ten, she got it. Besides, Franky probably knew full well that she still didn't approve of Matty. He was a bad influence on her, lead her astray. Franky was special and all Matty seemed to want to do was corrupt her.

This foolish plan of theirs was evidence enough. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to break into a police station, anyway?

"What the fuck?"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Franky answered calmly, her eyes unblinking.

Mini didn't let it distract her. Sometimes, she felt a little weak at the knees when Franky turned her steely gaze onto her. It wasn't something she really understood and she always immediately brushed it aside, mostly because it made her feel so uncomfortable. Quickly, she shook her head to refocus, her blonde curls flying everywhere. Out of instinct, Mini tucked a strand back behind her ear before returning her gaze. Franky wasn't going to get out of this one, she wouldn't let her. There was no way Mini was going to let Matty win this round. He could be as reckless as he liked in his own time, but he wasn't going to bring Franky down with him.

"What the fuck are you thinking?" she asked again, her temper rising as she did so. "Breaking into a police station? I didn't think you were that fucking stupid."

"Why not?"

"Why not? Why _not_? I could tell you a million reasons why not."

"Go on."

She ran a hand through her hair and started listing everything she could think of, no matter how trivial it appeared. Of course, as she expected, Franky rebuffed several of them, but Mini sensed that she was breaking down the resolve. She understood that Franky was angry, they all were. But they couldn't expect miracles. Murders didn't get solved in less than a week in real life. On television, maybe, but the real police officers didn't have the likes of Detective Inspector Barnaby Edwards or Miss Marple working for them. They just had to be patient. Eventually, with the help of the American police, they should be able to find who was responsible. Then, they would be punished in due course. That was the way the world worked. Their interference would do nothing but make things worse. If anything, it could suggest that she and Matty were responsible and they were trying to destroy precious evidence. And if they did, they would end up in a shit-load of trouble. Franky did assure Mini that she had had absolutely nothing to do with it and Mini had believed her in a heartbeat. She couldn't help it, she always did where Franky was concerned. They just wanted to try and do their own investigating and were getting sick of reading the same websites on Red John. Besides, it was looking increasingly likely that he had nothing to do with it.

When Franky eventually agreed to drop all this nonsense, she let out a huge sigh of relief. The only problem was, she couldn't be one hundred percent sure whether or not Franky was actually telling the truth. The girl was prone to hiding her real feelings deep down, after all.

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Tuesday, 12.12pm PST_

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

It had been a mad dash through Sacramento from the CBI headquarters to Director Bertram's offices. Still, she had made it just in time, even if she was a little stressed. Then again, when he had called to request a meeting, she had been in the middle of a briefing with Cho. He'd just arrived back from Redding, keen to update her on the Hayes case. Her second in command had sounded just as tense as she felt. Then again, he was fully in control of the case and their prime suspect had just slipped through his fingers, so it was entirely understandable. It was a situation that she had been in before many times herself and no doubt, would find herself in it again. Especially while she had Patrick Jane working underneath her. That man seemed to like to encourage suspects to go AWOL as part of some elaborate trap or another.

"Sit down, agent."

Immediately she obliged and when he offered her a coffee, she tentatively accepted it. Normally, Lisbon wasn't one to accept drinks while working as you never knew what other people would do to them. However, Bertram was the director of the CBI and the last thing she wanted to do was offend him. Besides, he wasn't about to attempt to poison one of his underlings, unless he had some deep, dodgy secret that she knew nothing about. Something which she felt was highly unlikely; Lisbon had never been as suspicious of her superiors as Jane was. Anyway, he was clearly only trying to make her feel at ease as they waited for Madeleine Hightower to arrive. Lisbon's senior had been busy briefing the Organised Crimes cowboys after their latest case had gone spectacularly wrong. It was only natural that she had to finish reprimanding them before joining the meeting with Bertram.

They sat in silence, both occasionally sipping their drinks. Small talk with Bertram was almost impossible. Lisbon didn't have all that much common ground with him and usually wasn't deemed important enough to deal directly with him. Most messages from him came via Hightower rather than meeting with him face to face. He only became intrinsically involved with the most important cases; those involving politicians, serial killers and the like. The ones that were the most high profile and therefore, of the most interest to the general public. She didn't even need to ask to know why she was here. This was a briefing about the current Red John debacle.

However, all things considered, Lisbon was grateful. Usually, whenever Red John reared his ugly head, Jane completely lost it. He became virtually impossible to control and entirely single minded. She didn't come into the equation and neither did the rest of the team. If there was the slightest of possibilities that Jane could exact his revenge, then they might as well have not existed. She stiffened slightly at the thought. It wasn't going to come down to that. Red John would be apprehended by legal means and if, for whatever reason, she was unable to stop Jane, then she would arrest him. Their personal history didn't matter; he wasn't above the law. At least this time, he was relatively calm and composed, almost like normal. Then again, his assurance that Red John wasn't involved put a different spin on it. It meant he could approach it as normal and do everything he could in order to try and keep hold of the Red John case. And even if it was Red John, which Lisbon didn't believe in the slightest either, he was literally thousands of miles away. There was not much she or Jane could do.

"I apologise for my…"

"I understand, Madeleine," Bertram interrupted as Hightower took a seat beside Lisbon. "You're a busy lady."

Lisbon hadn't even noticed Hightower arrive. Then again, she had been so lost in her own thoughts, that it wasn't surprising. However, she was grateful. It meant they could finally get this farce of a meeting started and then she could get back to her team. She had more than enough work to do without wasting time with Bertram.

"I need to know where we stand with the Red John case. Has there been any developments?"

"It isn't a Red John case," Lisbon answered quickly, keen to clarify the position.

"Isn't it?" he enquired and Lisbon stared defiantly at him. "Have our British associates managed to apprehend the perpetrator, then?"

"Well… no," she admitted, well aware that both Hightower and Bertram's attention was focussed solely on her. "But…"

"But?" Bertram interrupted, before holding up a hand to stop her from answering. "It's a Jane hunch, isn't it?"

Lisbon nodded and remained silent. She watched as Bertram rose to his feet and strolled to his window to watch the traffic zooming by. He seemed altogether far too calm and collected, but it was his job to be.

"The Red John case is a coup for us, Agent Lisbon," Bertram spoke, still staring outside. "You're meant to be the best we have, isn't that right, Madeleine?"

"Yes, sir," Hightower stated impassively.

"We need to keep hold of this case," he continued, "closing it will be hugely beneficial to the CBI. Losing it, to the FBI no less, makes us look like mere amateurs."

"I know that, but…"

"But? Again with the 'buts'," he said with a sigh. "You're not employed to make excuses, neither of you are. This British debacle needs sorting out and soon. You have forty eight hours before the case will officially be signed over to the FBI. Understood?"

Both Lisbon and Hightower murmured their acknowledgements before leaving as quickly as they could. Lisbon couldn't help but feel tense. The Malone case was essentially out of her hands. They had remained in communication with the Avon and Somerset Constabulary as best they could, but there was only so much advice she could give them. It wasn't as if she were physically capable of doing the legwork required to actually close the case. If she were, then she'd feel a lot more confident about keeping hold of it. As it was, it was out of her hands.

And she couldn't stand that.

**TBC…**


	17. Chapter 17

**Part Seventeen**

_London, UK, Wednesday, 09.37am GMT_

"How is it?"

The barber looked concerned and was biting her lip nervously. However, Rich was transfixed by his reflection. His hair hadn't been this short since primary school. His mum had always wanted him to look neat and tidy for school and Kevin agreed. Really, they just wanted a line of supposedly cute school photographs to decorate the mantelpiece with. It was seemingly traditional for parents to do something like that, almost as some kind of sick shrine to their kids. As a consequence, it meant he always hated spending time in the living room of his own home. Then, as soon as he was able to, he grew his hair so long that he became virtually unrecognisable compared to those childhood pictures.

His hair had been his first act of defiance against Kevin. A symbol that dictated his determination to be different. To stand out from the crowd. Rich had never been a shrinking wallflower and didn't care what other people thought about him. As far as he was concerned, it was their problem, not his. If they didn't like it, they should grow the fuck up and accept that people were always going to be different. After all, his discovery of metal had not just been an interest in music, but a whole new way of life.

In a way, he should have been grateful to have the excuse to have it cut short. He'd had it trimmed and been turned into a dodgy Justin Bieber look-alike for his not-wedding to Grace. That had been a grave mistake and the first time he had sacrificed his long locks for what was seemingly the greater good. But he had wanted to look respectable for his wedding; it was something that was meant to only happen once, even if they didn't go through with it in the end. Since then, he'd been letting it grow steadily, but the progress had been painfully slow. Recently, rather than having the lovely long hair which Grace had actually rather liked, he had merely resembled a shaggy dog. At least now it looked tidy and respectable once more.

And he looked significantly less like himself.

The police had issued a plea for information of his current location with regards to Liv's death. Though they had not named him as a suspect, it was clear that that was what they thought. Otherwise, why would they have said it was so desperately urgent that he talked to them? His non-appearance at the police station last Friday made him look guilty as fuck. Or at least, involved somehow, which was technically true. That sudden reminder was what prompted him to get his hair chopped off; it was something he should have considered sooner, but for some reason he'd just kept holding onto it. The hair was just yet another sacrifice in a long line which he'd made of late. One of the less painful ones, admittedly, but it didn't stop it from being a mark of just how much things could change in such a short period of time.

"Yeah, it's great."

Roughly, he shoved a five pound note into the barber's hand and made a swift exit. He wasn't sure if the woman had believed him, but she was nice enough and her rates had been cheap. That was his main priority. Rich was growing increasingly aware that his pot of money was getting shallower by the day. It certainly wasn't going to last forever, possibly not even as long as he'd initially suspected. He had, somewhat lamely, tried looking for jobs around the market places, or as a sign holder. Nobody really seemed to be particularly looking to employ a scruffy teen with no qualifications to speak of, not even for a job which required no particular skills. Rich knew that the jobs market was hard, but this was taking the fucking piss. Did you really need A Levels to stand on the corner of a street and hand out vouchers for Subway?

He drifted to the same internet café he had been using for the past few days. Again, it was mostly for the price rather than just how fast the broadband was. But that wasn't the point. The point was, it meant he got a vague connection with back home. It meant he could check Twitter and Facebook to see how Grace and the others were doing. Every time he did so, he felt a stab of guilt for deserting her, which was the least he deserved. Rich knew full well that he was essentially torturing himself and clinging onto the past, but it was becoming a compulsion. He didn't have anyone in London and by doing this, it reminded him that somebody in the world cared about him.

Even if it did make him feel like a complete and utter fucking arsehole at the same time. Everything he'd done of late had been shameful, detestable. He'd given Alo the wrong advice; they should have headed straight to the police. If he had done so, he'd have been able to get a lesser charge, manslaughter or something, as he never intended to kill. Then, he'd dragged a fucking serial killer into the fray and spent every day for over a week living in fear of being found either by the cops or by Red John. He'd deserted his girlfriend and his mates in their hour of need. To add insult to injury, he'd heard rumours of his own father being dragged in for question. And he'd missed out on the chance to say goodbye to Liv at her funeral.

His life was a mess and for the first time ever, Rich didn't have any way to get out of it.

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Wednesday, 01.12am PST_

Rigsby was already curled up in the back seat when she climbed into the van. Cho gave Van Pelt a wan smile as he put the keys into the ignition and drove away in silence. He was the one who had received the anonymous call stating that Cera had been spotted heading towards Alturas, California. Evidently, he had decided to change tactics and head towards the California/Nevada state border in order to make his escape. Alturas was probably his last stop for the night before he attempted to make a break for it. Van Pelt knew that they had to make good time in order to intercept him in time. Still, it was early in the morning. Theoretically, they should be fine.

"Call Lisbon," Cho stated, keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead of him."What?"

Van Pelt hadn't meant to question the orders of the superior agent, but she was tired and the words had just slipped out. Besides, Cho talking had actually taken her off guard. She had expected that the journey, which would last approximately five hours, would be mostly silent. Eventually, she would just fall asleep in the car and recharge her batteries before they ploughed into action in Alturas. Then again, it was hardly surprising she wasn't thinking straight. When Cho had called her, she had been just drifting off to sleep, only to be rudely awaken by her piercing ring tone.

"Call her. She wants to be kept updated on the case."

"Even at this time of night?"

"Yes."

She shrugged and dug her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. Cho had been meeting up with Lisbon regularly to keep her connected with the case, but Van Pelt didn't think she wanted or needed to know their every movement. Still, if that was what both she and Cho wanted, then that was what they would get. Besides, she had learned the hard way about the repercussions of defying the rules. Even though she was happy with O'Laughlin, there were still times when she regretted what had happened between herself and Rigsby. It had all been so avoidable and yet, because she simply hadn't known any better, they had caused so much unnecessary heartbreak.

For a brief while, Van Pelt thought she wasn't going to answer. That Lisbon had accidentally left her cell phone in the office or Jane had done something stupid to it or the like. After the fifth ring and what felt like forever, she eventually got an answer.

"Lisbon."

Her boss' voice sounded husky with sleep and Van Pelt cringed. In all honesty, she had expected that Lisbon would still be awake, poring over case files. After all, it often seemed like Lisbon didn't actually have an off switch. She was always clued in, always working and never gave herself a break. Sooner or later, she would run herself into the ground and Van Pelt wished she could stop her before she did that. However, it wasn't her place to say and besides, she sincerely doubted that Lisbon would take her advice anyway. Though she would vehemently deny it, Lisbon was cutting herself off from the team again, in favour of trying to focus on Jane. At least she had managed to introduce her to yoga a couple of years ago, though. That had had to have improved the senior agent's stress levels, if only marginally. Van Pelt quickly glanced at the clock, realising that was something she should probably have done before hitting speed-dial. Or maybe not, it was pretty early in the morning. No wonder she sounded so groggy.

"I'm sorry for waking you," she muttered honestly.

Sometimes, it got a little irritating still making such silly faux pas after working with the CBI for so long. Van Pelt had honestly thought that by now, she would have grown out of making such silly mistakes, but clearly not. Quickly she fought to bury the guilt bubbling in her stomach. After all, Lisbon had no qualms about ringing her in the dead of the night if a case came up. She was merely returning the compliment. And besides, Cho had actually been the one instructing her to do this, so she wasn't entirely at fault.

"It's fine, I'm awake," Lisbon answered back, somewhat bitterly. "What do you want?"

"We've had some more information on Cera's location," she answered hurriedly. "We're attempting to intercept him at Alturas before he crosses the state border."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, I'm sorry-"

"Cho asked you to call, didn't he?" Lisbon interrupted, keen to keep the call short.

"Yes."

"Tell Cho not to take my instructions quite so literally next time, okay?" Lisbon stated, still sounding as shattered as she did when she first answered the phone. "This kind of thing can wait until morning."

"Yes, boss," Van Pelt answered, feeling relieved. "Good night."

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 10.23am GMT_

There was a clock on the wall opposite him.

Alo had found himself drawn to it, watching as the second hand ticked slowly and steadily around and around. It was almost hypnotising in a way. It also signified the passage of time, just how long he'd been incarcerated.

He'd been in this hellhole for just over twelve hours, apparently. That was, if he hadn't randomly lost a day or something. Alo couldn't be sure of that. After all, from the moment he'd been taped to this chair, he had been knocked unconscious.

Still, at least he was alone. For now.

Impatiently, he wriggled at his bonds, trying desperately to loosen his wrists or his feet or anything. Unfortunately, it didn't look like anything was happening. Which was fucking shit, considering he was desperate for a slash and of course, he really needed to get out of this mess.

After all, he knew his captor was armed. He'd seen the gun already. It was the first he'd set eyes on since… Since the one he'd used during the _incident_. For the past week or so, he'd actively avoided going anywhere near firearms, despite his dad asking him to go and shoot the rabbits which had moved back into the upper field. He just didn't want to touch one, to feel the weight of a deadly weapon in his palms so soon afterwards. This was the first time he'd ever experienced that around guns. Having been brought up on a farm had kind of lead to his desensitisation of them. It was almost as if he'd forgotten that they had any other purpose than disposing of unwanted vermin.

Alo choked back a sob. He wasn't normally one for crying, but he couldn't help it. Then again, he wasn't just scared, he was _fucking _terrified. Who knew when his kidnapper would return and if he would still be armed? Would anyone notice he'd gone missing before then? Or would his rescuers arrive, a few minutes too late, only to see his corpse pooling blood on the floor? Would anybody actually notice he'd gone missing at all? Rich wasn't around anymore, something that was partially his own fault, and he'd been the only one who'd ever seemed to care.

How could he have been so naïve? For the past week or so, he'd been living in a dream world, pretending that everything was normal. Liv's death was just something that had happened, like it was almost always going to. It was just a coincidence that he'd pulled that fucking trigger and been aiming in the wrong direction. How could he have even thought that everything would go back to normal after something like that? Realistically, he should have realised that sooner or later, the web of lies would have become untangled. That the police would have come knocking at his door, with a warrant for his arrest. That he would be trialled and imprisoned for murder. And he'd have pulled Rich down with him, for perverting the course of justice or whatever the fuck it was called.

The door clicked open and Alo froze. Eventually, the man appeared once more. This time, he wasn't armed with the gun, but a small penknife. It was rather similar to his one, the one that Rich had apparently thrown in the harbour. Rather contradictorily, that felt like it happened a lifetime ago already. He was also wearing rubber gloves, like the pair Rich carried around with him in case of emergency washing up dilemmas. At that moment, Alo didn't know whether or not he wanted to laugh or cry.

"Do you know who I am?"

Alo shook his head frantically. How the fuck was he meant to know? He wasn't a fucking mind reader. As far as he was concerned, he was just a strange man who had cornered him during Liv's wake. Then, out of nowhere and for no apparent reason, said man had pulled a gun on him and dragged him to this dilapidated shit hole. After that, things got a little hazy. That was unsurprising, given he couldn't even remember being tied to a chair, never mind anything else.

The man laughed and smiled ever so slightly. With a predator-like expression written across his features, he closed the gap between himself and Alo. Crouching down, he pulled the sleeve of Alo's shirt roughly up before making a neat incision into Alo's forearm. Alo yelped at the sudden stabbing pain, unable to take his eyes off of his bleeding arm. He watched warily as his attacker dipped his fingers into the wound before striding across to the wall opposite him. Slowly and careful, the man drew a rounded face, finishing off with the eyes and grotesque smile. Alo saw his own blood slowly dripping down, to finish the effect and couldn't help but shudder.

"Now do you realise?"

He nodded once, still shaking like a leaf. Of course he knew.

**TBC…**


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks to Aeidhryn for reviewing Part Seventeen.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Eighteen<strong>

_Alturas, CA, USA, Wednesday, 05.59am PST_

Cho knew that theoretically, this sting should be easy.

However, just because it should be, it didn't mean it would be. He'd learned that time and time again, mostly thanks to a certain Patrick Jane. Thankfully, Jane wasn't with them; he was still far more preoccupied with bothering Lisbon with something that was mostly out of her control. At least it mean that he couldn't ruin their plans though. Mostly because Jane came up with schemes of his own. Even after years of working in conjunction with the unit, he still didn't seem convinced that they were trained professionals who could actually do their own jobs without his interference.

That didn't mean it would necessarily go as planned though. As with any operation such as this, all manner of things could go wrong. They just didn't have Jane to nudge it in whichever direction he thought most appropriate. It was mostly Cera's free will which would dictate the way things went.

He was still grateful that they had arrived in Alturas early enough. As they were driving up there, Cho had half suspected that Cera would get on the move as early as feasibly possible. After all, the man knew that he had cops after him from all directions. However, he had also been running for a couple of days now and fatigue was probably wearing in. Cera had probably counted on the distance between Sacramento and Alturas holding them up and therefore, risked sleeping in a little later than he ordinarily would have. When they had spoken to the receptionist, she had been surprisingly compliant, especially once she realised that they were involved in a murder investigation. Everything they needed to know had been offered freely on a plate, mostly because the poor girl was horrified that the motel was harbouring a known fugitive and she hadn't realised. She was obviously new to the establishment; most women in her position usually wouldn't have given it a second thought.

It hadn't taken the three of them long to work out a plan of action. It would have been easier if they had the full team available to them, but it simply wasn't an option. Cho had situated himself outside. Cera's room had a balcony, with a plausible escape route. Rigsby was manning the entrance while Van Pelt was in charge of disturbing the man, along with one of the porters. Opportunities like that didn't come around for her as often as she would have liked and where Cho was apprehensive, she was keen to prove her worth. Even after several years working with the team, she was still prone to the occasional mistake and therefore, judged accordingly.

"Okay, go."

Van Pelt acknowledged Cho's instruction immediately. She knocked on the door with three sharp taps and waited half a second.

"CBI, open up!" she called, but as she expected, nobody responded.

She craned to listen and could hear a rustle of footsteps. Instinctively, she knew that Cera was checking the balcony and would spot Cho. Then, he would realise he had to choose between either jumping down and being cornered by Cho or facing herself. After another couple of seconds, she nodded at the porter, indicating that she wished him to use the master key to unlock the door.

The second it was open, she felt a sudden blow to the head. Her vision swam and vaguely, she noticed the porter hide in the room that had just been vacated. Hoarsely, she muttered down her microphone that she had been injured before sliding down the wall and sitting there for a while. Van Pelt knew she was in no fit state to make chase; she could hardly tell left from right. She could only hope that Rigsby would prevent Cera's escape.

The moment he heard the call in his earpiece, Rigsby flew up the flight of stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. Swiftly, he intercepted Cera, who was running in the opposite direction. Probably more roughly than he should have done so, he pinned their suspect against the wall before cuffing him. He couldn't help it; he was furious. The man had injured Van Pelt. Rigsby prided himself with the fact that he could protect the people he cared about and because of this bastard, he felt like he'd failed. Not that it would have made all that much difference if he'd been standing beside her. Then again, if he had been, he could have received the injury instead, which would have been far preferable in his opinion.

Quickly, he handed the man over to Cho's care and didn't even stop to explain where he was going. Rigsby didn't need to; it was obvious that Van Pelt needed tending to and that Rigsby was the one who wanted to do it. It didn't take him long to join her, in exactly the same spot he'd seen her while arresting Cera.

He let out a sigh of relief when he realised her injury didn't look serious, but that didn't stop him from enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug. Rigsby needed the comfort almost as much as she did.

_London, UK, Wednesday, 02.37pm GMT_

As had become routine, he'd spent most of the morning just wandering around London. It was getting a little dull; there was only so many times you could visit Covent Garden in a week without growing bored of it. As busy as London was, it never seemed to change. There were the same buskers along the tube, playing the same songs rather badly. The same street performer outside the tube station, making the visitors jump with the use of supposedly sudden movements. The same people handing out various vouchers and leaflets to the masses. Rich stopped to have a quick chat with one, but he said nothing of consequence. He liked that man and they had spoken several times in the past few days. Dave had promised to try and get him a job handing out leaflets for one of the discount show ticket booths, but hadn't been successful yet.

With a sigh, he headed down now-familiar streets and straight towards the internet café once more. Rich didn't care that he had already visited that morning, but he was bored. Besides, he'd forgotten to check online for cash in hand jobs. Advertisements for them weren't that common, but if he didn't try every avenue, he'd never find a legitimate source of income. Besides, it was beginning to spit with rain and the last thing he wanted to do was get soaked to the bone because of a downpour. He'd already spent far too much money in the launderette and he hadn't even been in London for a week. He knew that he needed to be as economical as possible if he was going to survive here until Dave managed to come through for him.

Rich paid up and sat at his usual computer. It was the one situated near the back, facing the wall. It was dark there and felt more secluded than any of the others, which was what he liked. When the waitress, Stephanie, came by, he smiled at her and ordered a tap water. When she frowned slightly, he added a slice of chocolate cake to the order. Not because he had the money for it, but because she was making him feel guilty about spending the bare minimum whilst using their services. Besides, guilt was something he'd recently felt enough of to last a lifetime of late. As he waited for both his cake and the computer to boot up, he drummed his fingers impatiently against the desk. It wasn't as if he were in any particular rush but still. He was used to a lightening fast service at home and in comparison, this was painfully slow.

Eventually, both services were supplied and Rich had soon tried but failed to look for a job. He hadn't expected to find anything, so it wasn't a massive disappointment. And it killed time, which was more of the priority in this case. Eventually, he drifted back onto Twitter, having nothing else to do. Nothing of particular interest was happening; Alo hadn't tweeted for a while and he was obsessed with the site. Still, he wrote that off as a result of everything that had happened. He certainly felt even less like sharing his innermost thoughts at this moment in time, so Alo was probably feeling exactly the same way. Grace hadn't been online all day either and part of him wished she had been. Then again, even if she had, he wouldn't have been able to bring himself to talk to her. That would have just been torturing himself.

In the short time he'd been browsing the micro-blogging website, three messages popped up, but only one caught his eyes, which simply said _'_check your dms'. It was from somebody called rh1854 and Rich didn't recognise that username. Then again, he had a lot of followers and it wasn't always possible to keep up with them all. Furiously, he replied with 'who are you?' and waited impatiently for a reply. When the words 'doesn't matter' appeared on his screen, he frowned slightly and took a bite of cake.

For a couple of minutes, he toyed with the idea of just ignoring the messages. He told himself it was just a dummy account, somebody trying to catch his attention and infect a virus onto his computer. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and he obeyed the instruction. There were just two messages, one from Alo and another from the same user who had just tweeted him. Automatically he read Alo's first; his mate often sent him amusing jokes over the website. Then again, it could equally have been him telling him to stop being so bloody stupid and come home.

He certainly didn't expect: _shit, fuck, he's got Grace, Rich. Red John has her, I saw the fucking smiley face. You need to come home! He might fucking kill her!_

Rich attempted to hide the look of horror on his face, but he knew that Stephanie at least noticed. When she came over to ask if he was okay, he smiled weakly and asked for a coffee. Realistically, he needed something stronger and maybe a fag or two, but coffee would do for now. He needed to find out more. Alo wouldn't joke about something like this, would he? There was only one thing for it: he had to go back. It could easily have been a hoax and somebody could have hacked into Alo's account to play a sick joke. But unless he went home, he would never know for certain. Rich knew he wouldn't be able to live with that.

Before switching it off, he glanced over the second message. All it contained was a short address. He decided that as soon as he got home, he would check it out. Maybe this mysterious rh1854 would be there, maybe he knew something. He could even be the guy who attempted to attack Alo and Grace, triggering all of this. And if he was, then it would be of some sort of help.

Wouldn't it?

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Wednesday, 09.12am PST_

Jane sat on the couch, staring at Lisbon. She was typing away furiously, though at what he didn't know. Nor did he care. It was something which seemed to take up the bulk of her time whenever they were at the CBI headquarters. While waiting for O'Laughlin to arrive, she had decided to start tackling the backlog of various reports and the like that had amalgamated on her desk. He wished that he could wave some kind of magic wand, to reset the status quo. That there was something they could actually do in order to make sure they kept the Red John case. If they lost it, well, what reason would he have to stay with the CBI? Lisbon knew that the main reason he stuck around was simply to gain access to the private case files regarding Red John. Everything else was just a diversion. Closing other cases was fulfilling, in a way, but it was still a distraction from his ulterior motive. The sooner Red John was six feet under, the sooner everybody could breathe a little 's not to say he hadn't grown fond of the team, and some members more so than others. However, he also knew that friendships (or anything more, for that matter) were dangerous. Kristina Frye's breakdown was evidence enough of that. With Red John potentially looming to strike at any given moment, he was scared. Scared that the serial killer would take away yet another person he cared about. Yes, their jobs were dangerous, that was nothing new to him or them, but maintaining any kind of relationship with him was even more so. Red John's vendetta against him was all too apparent; the serial killer had slaughtered an entire team, just to ensure that he remained working on the case. What would happen to the FBI if they were to take it over? Jane didn't even want to hazard a guess at the potential risks of it. Red John was only one man, but sometimes he seemed so much more than that.

Then there was the whole O'Laughlin debacle. Jane had expected him to be more focussed on the case in hand, but instead, he kept disappearing with cell phone, to make calls. He picked arguments, brought up pointless details and seemed to be hiding something. What, he wasn't sure, but it was something to investigate. In a way, Jane hoped not and that he was just misreading O'Laughlin because of the stress of the situation. Van Pelt deserved a little luck where her love-life was concerned and she seemed very fond of him. Not as fond as she had been of Rigsby, mind, but happy enough to date the man. Then again, maybe O'Laughlin simply wanted the Red John case to slip into the FBI's possession. It was often famed as being the 'career-maker' and therefore, any agent worth their grain of salt wanted to give it a shot.

"Where's O'Laughlin?" he eventually asked, "he's late."

"I don't know, Jane," Lisbon said with a heavy sigh. "I'm busy."

"We're meant to be working the-"

"I know," she snapped, interrupting him as she did so. "In the meantime, can't you find something useful to do?"

"He should be here. This is important and he's hiding something."

Lisbon stopped working for a second, laced her fingers together and regarded Jane with her inquisitive green eyes.

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know, it's just… he doesn't seem to care. There's something in his eyes…"

They fell into silence, albeit briefly. Both of them knew that Jane had hit on something, but neither really wanted to go down that pathway. On the outside, O'Laughlin appeared to be a genuine guy and he had to be a good cop, considering what he had already achieved with the FBI. It was just that half of his behaviour seemed like such a contradiction. Then there was the fact he had mentioned the Salinger Mill incident. At the time, nobody outside of the CBI should have known about that and Lisbon still wasn't entirely convinced that Van Pelt would have told him.

"Look, I'm not particularly fond of his work ethic either, but there's nothing we can do until this is sorted, okay?" Lisbon eventually said, unable to bear it any longer.

"You're right, I didn't mean to…" he started before drifting off. "Would you like a coffee?"

"Yes, Jane," she answered, albeit distracted. She had already returned to focussing on her work.

**TBC…**


	19. Chapter 19

**Part Nineteen**

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 07.39pm GMT_

Life took some very strange turns, Nick decided.

Relatively recently, his whole life had been thrown into disarray. Truth be told, Nick hadn't been genuinely happy for a long while. Had been beginning to see the cracks in his father's bullshit life-coaching. Things like that were hard to deal with; coping with the fact that everything he'd been practically spoon-fed was utter crap wasn't easy. It had meant he needed to seriously reassess everything and work out where to go next. Everything was only just beginning to come back together now and he was even considering playing rugby again soon. Contrary to what he'd believed when he'd quit, he did actually enjoy the sport and was missing it. It would do him good to play again.

Then again, things had gone all weird again lately. Liv's death had shocked everyone. Rich had disappeared off the face of the planet, which had surprised them all, considering he'd never seemed particularly close to her. Matty was barely talking, unsurprising, given his on/off relationship with Liv and even he'd shed a tear or two. In fact, only Alo had really been acting anything remotely close to normalcy. Nick appreciated that; it made it feel like there was still something anchoring them to reality. That it was physically possible for the gang to get over losing one of them.

He'd wanted to take a leaf out of Alo's book, to go out tonight, but nobody else had really cared. Then again, it had only been a day since they'd said goodbye to Liv. It wasn't really surprising that no one particularly cared for drinking or recklessness. Funerals had a habit of reminding people of their own mortality and therefore, making them feel less like taking risks for a while. However, Nick had got to the stage where he needed to let off steam, remind himself that life could be fun again. Everybody was so sad and justifiably so. But still, what was the point in putting their own lives on hold because of something they couldn't change?

There was nothing happening in town, so Nick simply wandered. Something interesting was bound to happen sooner or later, it always did in Bristol. He sat for a while and watched people passing by. Everyone was hurrying, as if it was so urgent that they got to wherever they were going as quickly as possible. If they stopped for a while, took the time to breathe, then maybe they wouldn't have been a little stressed. Then, life would probably be all the more pleasant for everyone. It was something he'd learned recently. Since he'd stopped stressing out over what his dad thought of him, what the whole world thought of him, he had been a lot happier. In fact, he was coming to the conclusion that life could be pretty fucking awesome if you didn't let things drag you down.

It was then that he spotted Rich. Or at least, he thought he spotted Rich, heading towards the harbour. His hair was different, shorter and he was wearing a decent shirt, rather than the depressing black numbers he usually opted for. For an hour or so, he dithered. He wasn't entirely sure it _was_ Rich. It could have just been his desire to see a familiar face making him hallucinate. But then, if it was, he ought to tell Grace. The poor girl was tearing herself apart over Rich's disappearance. Apparently, the bastard hadn't even bothered to tell her he was leaving. That was pretty sick, but then again, he was ashamed of some of the things he'd done to the ladies too, so Nick knew he shouldn't judge.

Eventually, he made his mind up. Grace deserved to know his suspicions. She was a sweet girl and didn't deserve to be hurt like this, not after losing one of her best mates. It took him a while to find her house, but eventually he succeeded. Blood took some convincing to see his daughter, but eventually he acquiesced, especially when Nick casually mentioned that he had news about Grace's apparent waste of a boyfriend.

"Hey, Grace, I think I just saw…" he stated as soon as she appeared on the doorstep, looking all puffy eyed and depressed.

Grace didn't even let him finish off his sentence. Instead, she handed him her mobile phone, shaking. There was a tweet from Rich on the screen. He furrowed his brow as he read it._Psychonaut93: _I can't do this anymore, I'm sorry.

"What do I do?" she whispered.

"He was heading towards the harbour," Nick answered quickly. "C'mon, we might find something there."

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Wednesday, 01.11pm PST_

It felt like it took them a lifetime to get back to the CBI headquarters. Rigsby had spent the majority of the return journey splitting his time between watching their suspect and observing Van Pelt anxiously. She had received some very speedy treatment from a paramedic in Alturas, but Rigsby wasn't convinced that that was enough. Any blow to the head had to be taken seriously, even if it was only with something as light as a book. Besides, the bible wasn't exactly a _light_ book, what with the hardback covers and all those pages. Really, she was lucky that she hadn't been knocked out cold. Maybe if she hadn't been quite so tired this morning, her reflexes would have been up to scratch and Cera would haven't been able to hit her at all.

On the plus side, it meant that the man would definitely be charged with assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest, at the very least. Whether or not a murder charge would be added to that list was yet to be seen. The irrational side of him believed that Cera deserved it. He attempted to fight against it, to remind himself that the man was innocent until proven guilty. Just because he had gone on the run and attacked Van Pelt, it didn't automatically make him a murderer. He could have been scared, believed that somebody else was setting him up. Until they got a confession, or proof that somebody else had been responsible for the Hayes murder, they couldn't assume one way or another.

In a way, it was a blessed relief to be back in Sacramento. Cho was going to be in charge of the interrogation; all he had to do was wait for the forensics guys to finally get back with the results from the knife fingerprinting and to make a start on his paperwork. Theoretically, it meant that the rest of the day should be nice and easy for him, but he didn't want to say anything. He always had a habit of sticking the boot in too early and then things always seemed to end up more complicated than they should be.

Quickly, he dispelled all thoughts and headed towards the kitchenette. The least he deserved right now was a nice coffee, or one which was hot and wet, at the very least. While there, he also grabbed two yoghurts. Normally, he would only take the one; on too many occasions, he'd been caught by Lisbon taking more than his fair share. However, he was hungry, had forgotten his lunch and couldn't leave the office until they received the forensics information. He needed some sort of sustenance to make him last until well, whenever he could go and get something decent to eat.

"So you're fine then?" O'Laughlin stated impassively and Rigsby frowned as he continued to listen in.

"Yes, Craig," Van Pelt answered earnestly, barely noticing his lack of interest. "But I feel terrible. I shouldn't be making mistakes like this, I've been with the team-"

"Look, we're very busy, Grace," he interrupted and Rigsby's frown deepened. "We're close to making a major breakthrough, so I need to get back to Lisbon and Jane."

"Oh… okay then. Should we go out for dinner later?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Rigsby was thoroughly unimpressed. Were he in O'Laughlin's shoes, he would have let Van Pelt get all of her worries out in one go. It never did her any good to bottle things up; she was the kind of person who needed people to listen to her problems. Besides, he _knew_ there hadn't been any major breakthroughs with regards to the case in the UK. Lisbon had told him as much when he told her that they had apprehended Cera and Van Pelt had been injured. He'd heard Van Pelt trying to call O'Laughlin on the entire journey back from Alturas. Watched as she repeatedly checked for any text messages from the man, to no avail. Seen the disappointment flitter in her eyes each time O'Laughlin had ignored her. And now, this. Rigsby wasn't one to judge, but he couldn't help but feel a little angry. Van Pelt was obviously in need of some comfort and her boyfriend was just brushing her aside, like a mild irritant. It wasn't every day that you got injured in a sting; just because it was a minor injury, it didn't mean it hurt any less.

He sat back down at his desk and stared at the form in front of him, thoroughly annoyed. Rigsby wished there was something he could do to help Van Pelt. But in reality, there wasn't. He couldn't listen to her, like a good friend would. They had been trying the whole friendship thing, really they had, but it wasn't going well. All he could think about was just how much he loved and missed her. It hurt him to know that he should still be grateful to have her presence in his life at all, when all he wanted was something more. And now, he was seeing her being continually disappointed by the one man who was meant to truly care about her. As he picked up his pen, he decided that O'Laughlin had better make it up to her; it was the least she deserved. He couldn't get involved though, it wasn't his place to say. What he really had to do was put it out of his mind and think about work again.

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 09.11pm GMT_

Rich Hardbeck had arrived a couple of hours ago, just as he expected he would. For a while, Red John kept the two young men in separate rooms. He wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened, what they'd done and _why_, before disposing of them. Young Aloysius had sang like a canary, but Rich was proving a tougher nut to crack. Eventually, he had admitted to following his 'career' for some time, something he found almost humbling. It was just a shame that these kids always seemed to take things too far. There was only ever going to be one Red John and sooner, rather than later, he was going to disappear into obscurity.

Killing was getting boring. Patrick Jane's vendetta was equally dull. He was missing huge expanses of his young daughter's life and something had to disappear from his busy schedule. His job, his _real _career was a source of income. Murder was just something he did as a hobby. It was only natural that that was going to be one of the first things he sacrificed.

"Write it."

The boy looked back up at him with bleary eyes. Already, Red John knew that it was such a waste of a life. But really, people had to learn. These kids had threatened to ruin everything and naturally, he had to come in and pick up the pieces. He now knew that they were both as guilty as each other; just because Aloysius had pulled the trigger, it didn't mean that Richard wasn't inexplicably embroiled in the sorry state of affairs. Red John repeated the words and Rich continued glaring at him. He clearly already knew exactly who he was and why he was doing this.

"Fucking Yanks," Rich spat with disgust.

Rich was bright, he never for a second believed that this had been some kind of vendetta based on his lifestyle choices, which could have been a plausible motive to single him out from the crowd. The fact he was a metal head and seemed to be attempting to fry his brain with a toxic mix of beer, drugs and songs with no discernable melody meant he had more detractors than fans. Simplifying his personality down to his taste in music was an underestimation, however. People were always so much more complicated than they looked on the outside and that was what fascinated Red John about them. There was something so delicious about the moment when the penny dropped, when they realised that resistance was futile. That they were most likely going to die. But Rich had already sped way past that emotional state, he was trying to resist once more, trying to fight back.

However, like most cynical and jaded British teenagers, it was clear that he believed that 'stupid fucking Americans' thought they ruled the world. That the only thing that made a difference between the man in front of him and other US citizens was the fact he was wearing leather gloves and holding a knife in his hands.

That he was Red John. The serial killer that he had been fascinated by for years.

Frantically, Richard jerked his right leg and Red John watched with amusement. All he succeeded in doing was shifting the chair barely half an inch. Like Alo, he had taped him to it. Really, Rich should have expected that at the very least. When his mind eventually caught up with his body, he realised a pen had been roughly shoved in his right hand. That Red John wanted him to write a confession. To admit that Alo had accidentally killed Liv and he'd helped cover it up. And that he and Rich had decided to commit suicide together, simply because they couldn't handle the grief of everything they had done together.

It was ironic. Neither of them needed to die. If Rich hadn't made the fatal mistake of drawing the smiley face on the children's jungle gym in the park, then he wouldn't have been here at all. The worst that either of them would have been facing was imprisonment, for a relatively short period of time.

Instead, things had turned out so much worse, for the pair of them.

"You fucking bastard," Rich spat furiously. "You think you can fucking tell me what to do, you cunt? Why the fuck should I write this bullshit letter of yours?"

"Really?" Red John interrupted, with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. "And you kiss your own mother with that mouth? I should cut your tongue out."

"I'd like to see you try. Fucking Yank."

Red John remained silent as Rich reconsidered what he had just said.

"Well. If I wasn't tied down to this stupid fucking chair, you steaming pile of-"

"Enough. I suggest you write down what I tell you word for word. We both know how this is going to end. And no subliminal messages or changing it as you see fit. Otherwise, you're just going to be prolonging the inevitable."

The knife moved steadily towards Rich's neck and it was only when a few pearls of blood broke through the skin that he acquiesced. Red John was relieved; he had wondered if the teen would take into account that there was no point in misbehaving because sooner or later, he was going to die. As soon as he was finished, still quivering with fear, Red John snatched the paper away and read through it, satisfied. Then, he dropped it to the floor and smiled slightly, before walking away.

"Where the fuck are you going now?" Rich yelled and Red John didn't even stop to listen. "Hey, I'm talking to you, you bastard!"

Five minutes later, he returned, with Alo. He was already sobbing frantically and it took Rich a couple of seconds to realise that the knife blade was now being held to Alo's neck. Then, he noticed that with Red John's assistance, Alo had a gun firmly held in his grip. The serial killer was never going to treat them the same way as he did his older victims. That would have just defied the whole objective of flying over here. Instead, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

He guided Alo's right hand upwards, until Rich was staring down the barrel of the gun.

"Oh fuck, don't make me do this, please don't make me…" Alo whimpered, having clicked what was happening.

Red John applied a little pressure to Alo's finger and thus, the trigger.

The bullet whistled through the air at lightening speed and with accurate precision, directly into the centre of Rich's forehead. Immediately, the boy slumped over, dead.

Alo's leg buckled in shock and the boy continued sobbing. However, Red John didn't wait for a second. Instead, he manoeuvred Alo's arm so that the barrel was pointing directly at his temple. Once again, he fired the shot and the second of his two victims had died instantaneously. There was no chance that he was going to survive.

With a deep intake of breath, Red John briefly felt for his two latest victims. But they had it coming, it needed to be done. It could have ruined everything he had been working for in the past couple of years. Besides, there was still things he needed to do.

Like wash down the wall and remove that smiley face. And reorganise the bodies, so it definitely looked like a suicide pact, for a start.

**TBC…**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Penultimate chapter. Thank you to Aeidhryn for reviewing part 19.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Twenty<strong>

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Wednesday, 01.31pm PST_

Antony Cera sat in the interrogation room, exuding an air of confidence. He seemed completely nonplussed by the charges he'd already received. Cho was irritated by that; sometimes, he wished that suspects would take their situation more seriously. He also didn't seem to have even an ounce of remorse for the injury he'd inflicted on poor Van Pelt. She would be fine within a couple of days or so, but Cho knew that shock was beginning to hit in. There was also the simple fact that he'd spent days running instead of simply talking to them. Really, he had painted a terrible picture for himself from the start. If he had wanted to even look innocent from the offset, it would have been far better for him to behave as his colleagues had done.

Just five minutes earlier, Rigsby had come running up to him with said evidence. Normally, forensics reacted a lot faster, but thanks to the complications with Organised Crimes, had ended up with a back-log. That meant their analysis had been pushed behind. It was a shame, because if it hadn't, they would have been able to look to arrest Cera sooner. His fingerprints had already been in the database because he had committed the odd petty crime before, theft and the like. Clearly had very little regard for the law. Even if they didn't have the fingerprinting evidence, Cho would have still been convinced of Cera's guilt anyway. They had enough to charge him with, but to make the case airtight, Cho needed a confession. Besides, he was intrigued. He wanted to hear what the man's motive was from Cera himself.

He sat down opposite the man and opened the manila case file. Cera smiled benignly back in response. Cho knew that the sooner this was over and done with, the better. He just wanted to get Cera transferred out of CBI custody and into jail as soon as possible now.

Half of him suspected that Cera would claim self-defence. They often did, even if the medical evidence was groundless. Reports from the medical examiner had already stated that Hayes hadn't been able to fight back when he'd been killed. That he had a high percentage of sleeping medication in his bloodstream. He'd been drugged and then stabbed to death. There was absolutely no way he had been a risk to anybody in that state. Even if he hadn't been brutally murdered, the amount of drugs in his system would have prevented him from attending both the rehearsal and the first performance of _The 39 Steps _at Merced Theatre.

"Why did you run?" Cho started, not bothering with leading up to the key questions.

"Wouldn't you if you had cops running after you?"

"Innocent men don't run."

"Don't they?"

"No."

"Well maybe, this one did."

"Or maybe, you're lying through your teeth in order to try and get out of a sticky situation," Cho supplied innocuously. "Because that's what this is, isn't it? A sticky situation. And how many of them have you wriggled out of before?"

Cera shrugged, laced his fingers together and rested the back of his head on his hands. Clearly, he was trying to make sure that he appeared as relaxed as possible. That this was nothing, that he could make a murder charge simply _disappear_ if he wanted to.

"I think I may need my lawyer."

"He's on his way," Cho answered smoothly. "But why not make this easier on yourself?"

"On you, you mean," Cera corrected him. "If I just confess, that means you get to sign your little forms and get a pat on the back from your boss man, doesn't it?"

"Oh my boss already knows the outcome of this case. Like me, she just wants to know why you did it."

"She?"

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, why would I? I bet she's a demon in the-"

"So, what was your relationship with Miranda Hayes?"

Cera leaned forward, regarding Cho. He'd had plenty of time alone to prepare for this. While alone, he could run through plenty of scenarios and had worked out how to deal with most, if not every one he expected. Cho knew that the trick was to catch him out. He'd done this so many times before, that it was second nature.

"We were friends."

"The kind of friends that sleep together?"

"You could say that."

"What was her husband like?"

"Her husband was a bastard," he spat out. "He didn't appreciate her the way she should be appreciated."

"How did he react when he found out you'd been having a sexual relationship with her?"

"Oh he was mad, alright," Cera answered, almost smugly. "Threatened to kill me."

"And you got scared?"

"Nah, why would I get scared? He may look pretty on stage, but he's a lightweight off of it," he answered back, keeping his eyes firmly focused on Cho. "No way he could fend off a knife, half asleep."

"I didn't mention anything about the murder weapon."

The man clamped his mouth shut when he realised that he had said too much. Cera had spent so long pent up, unable to talk about how much he loathed Hayes, how jealous he was of his successes and the fact he had a beautiful wife. A man whom he felt infinitely inferior to, especially due to the love and adulation he received from adoring fans. Cho was satisfied. He had got the confession he wanted and now, everything made perfect sense. It was always good to get a win and there was nothing more satisfying than closing a case the traditional way.

_Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 11.11pm GMT_

They remained silent as they headed towards the harbour. Neither Grace nor Nick knew what to say to one another. Then again, Grace considered as they walked steadily onwards, they didn't really know each other. It was merely through association. For a while, all he had been to her was her best friend's boyfriend. They got along well enough, but as for really knowing and understanding each other, that was a whole other ball game. In fact, both of the Levan brothers remained a little bit of a mystery to her; it was something she mentally noted to rectify. After all, it was impossible to say when something would happen to any of them. Liv's death was evidence enough of that. If she didn't take the chance to get to know them and soon, she may never have the chance to do so at all.

It didn't take them too long to locate the address that Grace had been given. The warehouse looked strangely imposing and Grace couldn't help but wonder why Rich would ever come down here. It wasn't the kind of place he would normally head towards; if he ever needed some time alone, he liked to disappear to the record shop, or alternatively, a gig in some small pub or bar. Automatically, Nick reached out to give Grace's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. When she flinched, he pulled away, realising that he was probably going a step too far. She was in a committed relationship and had been for a while, everyone knew that. The fact that she and Rich had seriously considered marriage and almost gone through with it spoke volumes. The last thing she needed right now was the thought that somebody else, someone who was meant to be a friend, was trying things on with her. Even though she desperately wanted the comfort, Grace just couldn't seem to accept it. Not from Nick, anyway. He'd become too well established as being a bit of a player.

"Hey, hey. It'll be fine," Nick said, noticing the tears at the corners of her eyes. "This is just a hoax. Open the door and we'll soon be back on easy street, I know it."

"Yes, you're right," Grace answered, smiling weakly. "I'm just being silly. Rich has never thought… like that before. Somebody must have just hacked into his account."

"Exactly," he continued, emboldened by the sudden conversation. "He probably just needed a breather; it's been a crazy week."

Realising that Nick was speaking sense, she placed her hand on the handle, closed her eyes and opened it. The room they were exposed to was dark and more importantly, empty. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, Grace took a step inside and was relieved that Nick immediately followed her. It was cold inside, with a fresh breeze running throughout. Grace shuddered slightly. The silence was almost deafening; the only sound filling the small room was that of her footsteps and Nick's just behind. Soon, he drifted off, into one of the side rooms and she headed further into the depths of the warehouse.

"Rich," she called tentatively, to no avail. "Rich, are you here?"

"Nothing in here, Grace," Nick shouted at her and she jumped in response.

Nick fell silent once more and Grace continued to look through room after room. The place was like a TARDIS; just when she thought there would be no more rooms, she found another. She didn't mind the wandering though, it felt like it was more productive than just sitting at home, doing nothing. Even if it had been a simple hoax, at least it got her out of the house and made her stop thinking about the fact that Rich had just disappeared on her with no explanation. It was always better for her to be doing something to take her mind off things like that. As she approached a door, Nick did the same and startled her. They had lost sight of each other a good five minutes ago and she had almost forgotten that he had accompanied her to the warehouse at all.

"Shit, Nick, you scared me."

"You don't want to go in there."

"But…"

"No, really, you don't."

"Why not?"

"Look, just take my word for it, okay? Let's just go…"

Rolling her eyes, Grace elbowed him out of the way. Ominously, the door swung open. The room was harshly lit and she had to squint at the sudden influx of light. When her eyes focussed, she immediately saw exactly what Nick was trying to protect her from. The two prone bodies of Alo and Rich lay stock still. Pools of congealing blood beside them, with a handgun lying between their two bodies. Covering her mouth, Grace fled from the scene, trying desperately not to throw up. Never in a million years was this how she imagined things would end between them.

And, more importantly, what the fuck could have driven Rich and Alo to doing such a thing?

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Wednesday, 03.12pm PST_

"So, how exactly would the FBI approach the Red John case?" Jane asked, leaning back in his chair as he did so.

"Jane…" Lisbon spoke, with a warning tone.

O'Laughlin glanced at Lisbon and like Jane, immediately noted her obvious discomfort at the question. Then again, they were running out of things to discuss. There was only so many times they could cover old ground without feeling like they were just running around in circles. He had already suspected that Lisbon's tether was beginning to run short. Then again, Van Pelt had repeatedly told him that she wasn't the most patient of people in the first place. It would be good to talk about something new rather than things that were out of their hands. Besides, it took his mind off of Red John and how he was doing in England. The last thing he wanted to do was slip up in front of Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon. He'd already come far too close to doing so on several occasions already, something which he was kicking himself for. Lisbon had already implied that she did not entirely trust him and if she was getting suspicious, that meant Jane certainly would be as well.

"I don't mind, Teresa," O'Laughlin answered, with a slight smile. "He has every right to ask. After all, Red John is his case."

"Actually, it's mine," she responded stiffly, irritated by the fact that not only had he ignored protocol, but as with so many people, he had forgotten the fact she was the lead agent, not Jane.

He sighed. O'Laughlin always knew that it was going to be a long day, but Lisbon was seemingly in a particularly foul mood. Then again, it had been a stressful week for her and Bertram's added pressure was only making things worse. They were all painfully aware of the clock ticking downwards. That the amount of time they had to sort out this debacle was running short. Despite how he was having to act, none of them wanted the Red John case to be passed to FBI hands. The main difference was that he wanted it to stay in CBI hands for arguably morally abhorrent reasons. But that, of course, depended upon how the situation was viewed. All Red John wanted to do was to disappear from media scrutiny to spend time with his family. He simply believed he owed Patrick Jane an explanation before he did so. Just because he was a serial killer, it didn't mean he was utterly soulless. He just had a different way of viewing the world.

"If you really must know…"

There was the sharp buzz of a cell phone. Immediately, O'Laughlin held up a single finger and glanced at the screen. He felt a wave of relief come over his body when he recognised the name; it was about time. Quietly, he excused himself from the room, he made a concerted effort to ensure he did not catch the eyes of Jane or Lisbon. They didn't need any more ammunition. If he wasn't careful, they would soon start asking more uncomfortable questions. As he answered the call, he could vaguely hear the pair of them bickering behind the closed door of Lisbon's office. It never took them long and it was little wonder people referred to them as the old, married couple of the CBI. But still, that wasn't his concern. The man on the other end of the line was.

"It's done."

"What is? You have to tell me…"

"I can't tell you anymore, you know that," Red John answered smoothly. "Be expecting a call from your colleagues in Bristol soon."

"And that will happen before our deadline? Before Thursday afternoon?"

"I expect so."

The call ended almost as suddenly as it began and somewhat stunned, he headed towards the kitchenette. He would have preferred a cigarette, but a coffee would have to do in the meantime. O'Laughlin stalled as much as feasibly possible; he really didn't want to head back into World War Three, even though he had finally had the update he craved from Red John. Knowing that it would be over soon was going to make the next few hours all the more tortuous. He could only hope that the telephone call he was now eagerly expecting would happen soon. Then, he could happily return to the FBI while monitoring the CBI via Grace Van Pelt. This situation had made dealing with principally Van Pelt seem so much easier, even if the girl was woefully naïve considering how long she had already been a cop for. Still, it was all good news. Red John had cleared up the blip that had got in their way and soon, he would be able to meet Jane face to face once more. Then, they would both be able to return to their day jobs without a second thought. Life would be simple once more.

Eventually, he made the short walk back to Lisbon's office. For some reason, it felt shorter than before, most likely because he especially didn't want to return. Jane gave him an appraising look as the door swung open. O'Laughlin couldn't help but think that Jane was reading his every thought, even if the concept was utterly ludicrous.

**TBC…**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **...at least this one ended up being posted quicker than my previous Big Bang. Thanks, Aeidhryn for reviewing and reminding me to post the final chapter. Thanks also to Miss Peg, without whom I wouldn't have written this fic.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Twenty One<strong>

_Bristol, UK, Thursday, 12.21am GMT_

She'd tried to look at the note lying between Rich and Alo immediately. Grace wanted, needed, to know exactly what it said. She was desperate for any kind of explanation for what she had just discovered. Needed something just to try and make sense of it all. However, Nick had immediately stopped her. He had said something about disturbing the evidence or crap like that. Of course, he was right. The last thing that they wanted to do was compromise whatever the police found. Just because it looked like a suicide pact, it didn't mean it actually was.

However, when she finally found out what that damn note had said, she'd wished that she hadn't known. The fact that Alo and Rich had supposedly 'accidentally' killed Liv was just impossible to comprehend. Why the fuck would they do something like that? What had driven them to messing around with dangerous weapons? Why did it have to drive them to suicide? Rich _had_ acted a little oddly after Liv's death, but Alo had been almost like his normal self and she had simply accepted that he was grieving like the rest of them were. It seemed like there were no forewarnings whatsoever that something like this was about to happen imminently. Really, it all felt like some kind of sick scene from a crime show. One where they find the dead bodies of innocent teenagers and it looks like a suicide, but eventually some genius works out that it's not. Except it wasn't something on the television, or in a play, or in a film. It was real life. And from where she was standing, it looked very much like Rich and Alo had taken their own lives. Even if they hadn't, there wasn't some miracle man hiding in the shadows to unravel the web of lies. Said web of lies probably didn't even exist; it was simply her clutching at straws, unable to comprehend her deceased boyfriend's guilt.

Grace pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and stared up at the night sky. The stars twinkled back at her as Nick sat down beside her. He smiled slightly and wrapped an arm around her. Tentatively, she leaned her head on his shoulder, more willing to accept the gesture of comfort than she had been earlier. She needed him now; all the hopes she'd once had had just been brutally destroyed in the blink of an eye.

"How did all this happen?" she asked.

"Dunno. It seems… wrong," Nick answered, unaware that the question had been entirely rhetorical.

Seconds later, a gurney was wheeled out. On top of it was a body bag. She didn't know if it was Rich or Alo and quite frankly, Grace didn't care. All she wanted was to rewind time, to go back to when everything was easy. When it hadn't been fucked up by something as stupid as death. When her friends were alive and she felt like there was some kind of point to life. Sooner or later, she knew she would feel better about it all. Or at least, it would stop feeling quite so painful to address. However, that didn't make the present any easier to deal with. And the forthcoming days were only going to get even harder.

"What are you looking at?"

Nick glared at a short man with glasses, who appeared to be looking at them. There were moments when people just wanted to be left alone and this was most certainly one of them. They both knew that the police hadn't finished asking questions, that this was just a quiet reprieve from the insanity. Come morning, they would be expected to return to the station to ask a load more. He dreaded to imagine what exactly they would have to answer, but he hoped that there wouldn't be anything too incriminating. Grace didn't deserve that. She had lost one of her best friends and her boyfriend in such a short period of time. It was little wonder that she had reacted the way she had. People had been known to completely lose it over far less.

"I'm sorry," he answered, with a slight American accent. "Could you tell me where the rail station is?"

Balked, Nick quickly answered him. Grace remained beside him, still shivering. He wasn't entirely sure whether or not it was because of the cold or if she had gone into a state of shock. Whichever, it didn't matter. Though he didn't know Grace all that well, Nick was determined to make sure that she got through this okay. She was a sweet girl and deserved that. After all, they were all hurting. Or at least, would be, once the news had spread.

"What happened here?" the man asked, intrigued, as the second body bag was removed from the warehouse.

"None of your fucking business, that's what," Nick snapped in response.

The man simply shrugged in response and hauled his backpack back onto his shoulders. Neither of them knew who he was, nor did they care. If they had realised that it was Red John, making sure that his plan had worked to perfection, then maybe they would have felt a little differently.

_Sacramento, CA, USA, Wednesday, 07.32pm PST_

Lisbon was relieved. Of course she was. Firstly, Cho had managed to neatly close the Hayes case, receive a commendation for his efforts and talk Amalia Ford out of suing Jane for all he was worth in the process. Van Pelt was going to be fine, after forty eight hours leave to convalesce from her head injury. And then, there was her debacle. It amazed her that things had come together at all; that the Malone case had somehow been closed. If those kids hadn't gone wandering into the warehouse, then who knew how long the bodies of those responsible would have stayed there, slowly decaying? What if the Avon and Somerset Constabulary hadn't finally had a witness come forward? They would have lost the case to the FBI, despite the fact it was blindingly obvious that Red John had no involvement whatsoever. But they would have had to sacrifice it, simply to look like they were doing something to try and catch the criminal mastermind. And Jane, he would have gone completely off the rails. Lisbon wasn't quite sure how she would have managed to deal with that. Controlling Patrick Jane was a trial at the best of times, without any additional stresses. Especially so whenever there was a threat to the Red John case. He was unsurprisingly possessive of it, more so than she was, and for good reason.

Still, at least it hadn't come to that. And now, they knew the full story, or as much as they were ever going to know. How the three kids had played a game of Russian Roulette, just for fun. That they hadn't realised that the gun was loaded. That Richard Hardbeck had written a confession note, in accordance to the suicide pact. Aloysius Creevey had been the one to fire the shots that ended not only Olivia's life, but his and Richard's too. It was depressing, even more so than the majority of their cases. All they had been after was a cheap thrill and instead, it had ended with the loss of three young lives.

"So, that's it then?" Jane stated.

"Yes," Lisbon answered, knowing full well the question had been rhetorical. "But at least we still have the case, right? That the English case was proven to be a copycat killer. And just in time too…"

"Too many people died though," he mused.

Automatically, he grabbed one of her stress relievers and threw it at her chessboard. The pieces flew everywhere, but Jane needed the release. He was relieved that Red John hadn't gone international, the very thought that he could had horrified him. But still, hearing about teenagers killing each other was something that unsettled him. It went beyond the hazards of the job description; it was simply horrifying. And to make matters worse, there was nothing that could have been done to prevent it, even if he had been in the same country as them. Jane understood what it was like to be consumed by grief and rage, to the extent of feeling suicidal. If somebody really wanted to take their own life, there was little that could be done to stop it.

"Jane!"

"What?"

"Do you really think that kind of behaviour is appropriate for the workplace?"

"I don't know. Isn't it?" he asked, with the sole intention of winding her up.

"You _know_ it isn't and should know better," Lisbon responded, before adding, "though sometimes, I do wonder…"

After letting her sentence die in the air, she shook her head and stalked out of her office. Neither of them wanted to discuss the case any further and they both needed to shake it out of their system in their own way. After all, they had worked with one another for far too long to even briefly think otherwise. Jane smirked and laid back down on her couch, easing himself into the soft material. Investing in the new piece of furniture had certainly been a wise decision. Lisbon seemed simply relieved that Red John hadn't become an international mastermind criminal. That the case was still theirs. Then again, she was still convinced that he, Patrick Jane, would eventually hand Red John over to CBI custody willingly. Sometimes she was terribly naïve for one so cynical.

This case was still troubling him, though. Something about it didn't quite add up. If Aloysius had been the one to shoot Olivia Malone, why had Rich been driven to suicide too? He had too much to live for and his young girlfriend had been obviously besotted with him. So, why would an innocent boy happily write a confession like that before allowing his best friend to shoot him in the forehead? Had it been his idea to play Russian Roulette? What about the Red John connotations, had that been Rich's planning in order to try and get Alo out of the murder charge? Had Red John found out about the supposed copycat and decided to take matters into his own hands, as he had done so before?

Jane shook his head. Sometimes, it was for the best that even he didn't stir things up. If he did, then the CBI would definitely lose jurisdiction over Red John and Lisbon would start getting all worried about him. She was very exhausting whenever she ended up like that, even if she did have his best interests at heart.

Maybe next time he saw Red John, he could ask him? Because it was going to happen, sooner or later. He was sure of it. And when it did, the bastard was going to be sorry that he ever lived. Then die a slow, painful death, just the way his wife and child did.

In the mean time, those poor kids had simply been added to the long list of people that Patrick Jane wished to avenge.

_Bristol, UK, Thursday, 11.21am GMT_

Mini, Franky and Matty were told the news of Alo's and Rich's deaths in almost the same manner as they had found out about Liv's. However, instead of Professor Blood barging into the common room, it had been a classroom. And instead of being told they were going to be interrogated about their connections, they were informed it was a suicide. They were offered time off college, counselling, crap like that. Not that any of it made a difference at that moment in time. How would it? It didn't bring Liv, Alo and Rich back. Didn't change the fact that the gang had been decimated, figuratively speaking. Nor did it prevent the immense feeling of loss that each of them felt, one way or another.

Naturally, they took the time off. Not just because they were teenagers and would willingly accept days where they were free to do nothing, but because they genuinely needed it. Dealing with Liv's death alone was one thing; having another two stacked on top of it was another altogether. Franky was surprised that Blood had been so generous; he wasn't famed for being sensitive about his students' feelings. Even his daughter hadn't been able to get away with very much at all in the past. He was all about the college's ratings, to hell with how the young people he dealt with actually felt. Then again, even he couldn't ignore these repercussions, especially with them coming so close to home for him. Literally.

They hadn't seen Grace, not yet. Franky dreaded to imagine just how she would be dealing with this. Mini was struggling to comprehend the losses; Franky could read her like an open book. Then again, she needed her friends more than ever and for two to die so senselessly and so close to one another, it was hardly surprising she was shell-shocked. Realistically, she suspected they all were. It was just that she was able to deal with the feelings better. However, her life had been a train wreck, so Franky was used to people letting her down one way or another. It was something she expected and therefore, this was nothing new to her.

In a way, she knew they should be grateful that Rich, Alo and Liv hadn't dragged them into their sordid games. Alo should have known better than to point a gun at anyone, loaded or otherwise. If it had been all of them playing the game, the magnitude of the fallout could have been far greater. Equally, it could have been so much less too. If all of them had been present, it would have been inevitable that one of them would have told the police the truth. Grace, probably. Then, one of them would have been imprisoned and the rest of them would have been free to live the rest of their lives.

They convened at the Fishpond Tavern. It was always their first port of call if they needed to talk. For some reason, the dingy pub managed to be the suitable venue for celebrations, mourning and everything in between. As Matty lead Mini to a seat, Franky ordered their drinks. It felt strange; like three drinks were missing off of their regular order. It was something that she would have to get used to, sooner or later. It wasn't as if this was just a fractured friendship or a couple breaking up. It was so much more permanent than that. They would never hear a snide remark from Rich, or a daft comment from Alo again. Nor would they hear Liv's dulcet tones; something none of them had really had a chance to comprehend before this latest blow.

When Grace arrived, guided by Nick, she looked just as shocked as Franky imagined. Wordlessly, she handed them both drinks and both nodded in gratitude. Now was not the time to talk, that would come later. Instead, they just wanted to sit in silence and grieve. They had the answers they had craved for with regards to Liv's death, but they had been the worst explanations possible. Even if she had been randomly hacked to death by a stranger, it would have been easier for them to deal with. Instead, they had to come to terms with the lies and deception on top of the deaths. That was something that would be easier said than done.

However, they would get over it, eventually. They had to. There was no shame in feeling sad, angry and in grieving. It was a natural part of the process, it was only human to feel in such a way. It would take time for those feelings to pass, for them to accept them and be able to move on.

That was all that would be needed.

Time.

end


End file.
